
GEORGE F^OUTLEDGE^SOKS- 


WEM.plE S COM PANY NEW VORH. 





































































































. 














































What They Did. 



































































































WHAT 


THEY DID 


Stones About Some Little People and Their Friends 


by 

9 

EVELYN CUNNINGHAM GEIKIE 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 



GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS. 

London : Broadway, Ludgate Hill. 

New York : 9 Lafayette Place. 


















« 




Copyright, 1883, 

By Joseph L. Blamirb. 



















HIDDEN IN THE SNOW. 


HE winters in Germany are at times very severe, and 
the story I am going to tell happened some time 
ago during a winter of unusual severity in that coun¬ 
try. When I was in Germany I spent the greater 
part of one winter living on an island in the river 
Rhine. The island is called Oberwerth. The only 
habitations are one large house and three or four 
cottages. At the house lived a German lady, who 
owned the island, and with whom I was staying at 
the time I speak of. The principal cottage was oc¬ 
cupied by a ferryman. The others were inhabited by the families of 
laborers employed in the cultivation of the island. 

In summer Oberwerth itself, and all the surrounding scenery, are 
most picturesque and lovely; even during that cold winter there was 
beauty of a certain kind. Huge 
blocks of ice came floating down 
with the stream on one side of 
the island; while on the other 
side, where the river is narrow¬ 
est, the water was completely 
frozen over, and there was skat¬ 
ing going on. 

However, it is not with the 
river that my story has to do, 
but with some children that lived 
upon the island. They were the 
son and daughter of Bernard the ferryman. I should say one was 
about six, the other seven years of age, and their names were Her¬ 
man and Anna. One bitter morning in January I met them—a 
joyous little couple—trudging merrily through the fast-falling snow 

5 































HIDDEN IN THE SNOW. 


/ 


to school; they could cross to the mainland on the ice then. Such 
a little man and woman they looked! laden with books and slates; 
and Herman carrying an umbrella to shelter them from the blinding 
flakes of snow. I asked them where they were going. 

“To school,” they answered both together, with a merry laugh. 

“ You seem very cheerful about it,” I said. 

“ Oh, but we are so happy,” cried Anna, “because to-day we 
have a half-holiday, and the Countess has told us we may ask some 

of our school-fellows on to the 
island, if it leaves off snowing. 
And we are to have games, and 
play at snow-balling, and run 
about, and get as warm as we 
can; and afterwards we are all 
to have supper in the great 
kitchen at the House.” 

“ Well, I hope it will leave 
off snowing,” said I, and so we 
parted. 

In the afternoon sure enough 
the snow ceased, and the sun came out. Sitting in the house, I 
could hear the shouts of my little friends, and other children, romp¬ 
ing and playing in the grounds. Afterwards I went, with my hos¬ 
tess, into the kitchen, and saw them feasting; as merry a set of 
children as were ever seen. Supper over, they went out into the 
garden once more, to have a game at hide-and-seek among the trees 
and bushes before it got quite dark. 

The night was just closing in, and snow was falling heavily 
again, when Bernard, the ferryman, came up to the house asking 
eagerly for help to search for his children, as neither of them could 
be found. 

“ My foolish little ones,” said the poor father. “ There are 
places in the island where the snow lies five and six feet deep; 









Hidden in the Snow . 



































































HIDDEN IN THE SNOW. 


they may sink into one of these drifts and be frozen to death before 
we can find them; and now it is getting dark.” 

He told us how the children had gone out of the warm kitchen 
to hide, bidding their school-fellows search for them. This they did ; 
but they searched in vain. Then they got frightened ; it was grow¬ 
ing dusk, snow was beginning to fall, and they dared not go beyond 
the garden. Then one of them ran and told Bernard. He said 
he had looked about, calling his children by name, hallooing, and 
using his whistle, which they knew so well, but no answer had 
come, and he was in despair. 

The Countess immediately ordered all the men about the house 
to go out with lanterns and torches, and she and I joined them. 

All at once an idea struck me. Most of you have heard of 
the Mount St. Bernard dogs, that find poor travelers who have been 
lost in the snow on the Alps ? Now, though I had no St. Bernard 
dog, I had a Scotch shepherd’s dog, a colley. I called Kelpie to 
me, and leading him through the garden to the ground beyond, 
pointed forwards, saying: “ Seek, Kelpie, seek! ” My doggie seemed 
to understand exactly: he put his wise old muzzle near the ground, 
and went sniffing about in all directions. In a very few minutes he 
stopped at the foot of a large tree, on one side of which the snow 
had drifted into a heap. Here, lifting up his head, he gave a loud, 
deep bark, and scratched away at the snow. The dog’s instinct had 
done more than all our knowledge, experience, and intellect could 
do. He had found, and—thank God !—saved, the children. They 
were lying there buried in the snow. 

They had hidden behind the tree, and at last, getting tired, had 
lain down on the soft snow, and fallen asleep; then the fresh snow 
falling, soon covered them up. They were carried into the house, 
and soon restored to consciousness, nor did they seem much the 
worse afterwards for sleeping on such a cold bed. As for poor 
Bernard, I shall never forget his joy, or his gratitude to Kelpie. 

Thus, you see, my dear old doggie saved both the children! 



PUSS AND THE CLOCK. 



N OT a long time ago, in a warehouse I know, 
Lived a number of mice and rats; 

They scampered about, and made such a rout. 
With not the least fear of cats. 

They nibbled the store, gnawed holes in the 
floor, 

And injured the goods and stuff, 

While the workmen's food, which was fresh and 
good, 

Seemed not to be half enough. 

Said a man one day, “ This won't do, I say, 

For our dinners to vanish so; 

With a cat in the house not a rat or a mouse 
Would stay in the place, I know." 

So a pussy came, she was gentle and tame, 

And soon got rid of the mice: 

Even rats who dared to peep in were scared, 

And scampered away in a trice. 

Then the master said, “ Poor Puss must be fed, 

Now the mice are all driven away," 

So a man in the street, who sold Pussy’s meat, 

Brought her dinner every day. 

When the men went home, Puss was left to roam 
In the warehouse every night, 

And when Saturday came it was just the same, 

And Puss had a terrible fright. 







































PUSS AND THE CLOCK. 


For on Sunday morn she felt quite forlorn: 

Who would bring her dinner that day? 

She could find no meat, nor a mouse to eat, 

She had driven them all away. 

Soon a very nice smell, which she knew quite well, 
Made her scamper across the floor 

To a room close by, where a clock hung high 
On the wall very near the door. 

Puss sniffed all about and ran in and out, 

Till all at once she espied 

Such a wondrous treat, a piece of cat’s meat 
To the clock-weight loosely tied. 

Puss jumped very high, but ’twas useless to try, 

So she mewed in a pitiful tone; 

For she felt very bad, and it really is sad, 

To be hungry and all alone. 

Then she curled herself round, to lie on the ground, 
And sleep the sad hours away, 

While the clock ticked on, till the weight sunk down, 
Not far from where Pussy lay. 

Puss woke in surprise, and opened her eyes 
When she saw she could reach the meat; 

So she made a spring which untied the string, 

And down it fell at her feet. 

We can easily guess Pussy’s happiness 

When she saw the piece of meat fall;— 

Then men laughed with glee the next day to see 
That Pussy had eaten it all. 





Puss and the Clock. 































































































































































































































































































































PLAYING AT GRANDPAPA. 


When next Sunday came it was just the same, 

The meat was tied to the weight; 

And Pussy well knew that what she must do 
Was to sit on the ground and wait. 

For she seemed to know that the weight sank low 
As the clock ticked and struck the time; 

So she never would try to spring very high, 

But would wait for the bell to chime. 

Little girls and boys sometimes make a noise, 

And cry for their dinner or tea; 

They should learn from poor Puss not to make such a fuss, 
But to wait for it patiently. 


PLAYING AT GRANDPAPA. 



ON’T you think this is a very wise¬ 
looking little boy ? I do; so, as you 
know nothing about him, I'm going to 
tell you. First of all, then, his name is 
Tommy Turner, and he lives with his 
papa and mamma in New York. He is 
not so fortunate as lots of you other 
children, though, for he has no brothers 
nor sisters, but he makes up for this loss 
by having a very clever companion called Friday. The) rre the 
greatest of friends, and yet, strange to say, Friday never speaks ? 
word to him. Of course you know that Friday is a dog. In this 
picture Tommy is playing at Grandpapa, a game of which he is 







Playing at Grandpapa. 



























































































PLAYING AT GRANDPAPA. 


very fond. Shall I tell you how he first came to think of it? Well, 
it was in this way. 

Last Christmas, his grandpapa asked him to spend a week at 
the old country house far away in the hills. Tommy was delighted, 
especially when he was told that some other boys and girls were 
invited too. He was to go in the cars, and then have a long car¬ 
riage drive, and when Christmas-day came, there was to be a tree, 
and heaps of presents, and games were to follow; in fact, Tommy 
looked forward to having a very fine time. 

On the day fixed, his mamma drove him to the depot, and put 

him in charge of the conductor, who was to 
hand him over to grandpa’s butler when he 
arrived. Ding-dong went the bell, and off 
went the train, and Tommy was so excited 
that he almost forget to kiss his mamma 
good-bye. He tried to sit still and not fidget 
the other passengers, but it was hard work, 
and when at last the locomotive drew up at 
the station, he jumped off before anybody 
else, and shouted, “Where is Jones?" with 
all his might. Jones was the butler, you know. Up came the man 
directly, and put Master Tommy into the carriage, but just before 
he shut the door, he said, “ You'll be sorry, sir, that your grandpa 
went away yesterday to fetch the Mertin boys, and the weather has 
turned so bad he can’t be home for Christmas, to-morrow.” 

Poor Tommy! this was bad news, and when he thought of 
Christmas without grandpa, or even the children, he couldn’t help 
crying. But Jones was kind to him, and tried to cheer him up, and 
so he made up his mind to be a man and make the best of it. Next 
day he rose betimes, and after saying “ A Merry Christmas ” to the 
servants, he began to play all by himself. First he had a game he 
called “ Robinson Crusoe,” for wasn’t he all alone, except his faith¬ 
ful Friday? He played this so long that the servants called him 








NEW FRIENDS. 


“ Robinson Crusoe ” always afterwards. But the game he liked best 
was the one in the picture—“Grandpapa.” You can see how he did 
it, can’t you? Up he jumped into an arm-chair, then he put on 
grandpa's spectacles, crossed his legs, and began to read the paper! 
It was rather dry stuff, though, and nearly made him fall asleep, 
when lo! just at this drowsy time, who should walk in but grandpa 
himself. He had been able to come, after all, and had brought the 
boys with him, so in the end you may guess Tommy had a happy 
Christmas —so happy, that even the remembrance of it makes him 
want to play Grandpa, and think it’s next Christmas already. 


NEW FRIENDS. 


W E had horses and dogs and cats 
and birds for friends, and of 
course we had each other, but 
until the day I am going to tell 
you about, we hadn’t any “peo¬ 
ple friends ” besides ourselves. 
Well, one day we were out for 
. ^ our usual walk, when all at once 

Ct we heard patter, patter, and Char- 
' \ j u He instantly cried, “ Hush ! I be¬ 
lieve the hounds are coming;” for 
vou must know there was a meet that day on the Common near 
us. But as the sound came nearer, we found it wasn’t the hunters, 
but only a strange boy on a dear little Shetland pony. The lad 
looked as if he were going to speak, then blushed, and was begin¬ 
ning to ride on again, when our nurse asked him if he wanted any¬ 
thing, and if she could be of any use to him. 














New Friends. 































NEW FRIENDS. 


The boy lifted his hat, and said: 

“ Thank you very much, but I hardly like to ask you; the fact 
is, that father was going to let me go after the hounds with him to¬ 
day, and I had started to the meet just near, when Smut ran after 
me; he got away from them at home, you see. And father was 
angry with me and sent me home to have him tied up. And then 
it’ll be too late for me, I’m afraid, to join the run to-day;” and the 
boy colored again, and his lips trembled. 

“ Your dog does not look very fierce,” said our good-natured 
nurse. “ Perhaps we could take care of it for you, or we might 
take it to your house, if it is not far, and then you could still be in 
time to have your hunting.” 

“Oh, thank you,” cried the boy delighted; “Smut is awfully 
good-tempered, he would not 
bite for anything. And if you 
didn’t mind taking him to the 
gate—it’s only a quarter of a 





mile down there, over the stile ' 
and across that held—it would 
be kind of you ; and if you’ll tell 
the keeper to fasten him up it’ll 
be all right. Waverley House is 
the name of the place, and my name is Montague Lindsay. I think 
I can take a short cut, and catch up to father.” 

Nurse tied a pocket-handkerchief round Smut’s neck, and held 
the dog fast, while his master touched his pony with his heel, and 
flew off at a rattling pace down the road. 

Smut made several attempts to hang himself in trying to get 
away after his master; but Nurse held on to her handkerchief 
bravely, and in a little while Smut became subdued, and was led, 
a sad but gentle prisoner, the way we wanted him to go. In fact, 
before we reached the lodge where we intended to leave him, Smut 
and we children were quite sorry to part company. , 







NEW FRIENDS. 


However, as we promised, we left poor little Smut in charge 
of the lodge-keeper, and we turned back. Presently, as we got out 
of the road into which the lodge-gates of Waverley House led, and 
climbed over a stile into a field, we heard sounds in the distance. 
This time it was the sound of hoofs—hard, large hoofs, and many of 
them; they passed down below in another meadow tearing along at 
a desperate rate. In another second the hounds come flying into 
the field, but poor Reynard has escaped. The red coats fill the field 
now, with the hounds, only for a second, though, and then they have 
vanished, shooting over hedges, ditches, and five-barred gates, fol¬ 
lowing the poor fox. It had indeed been a moment of intense 
excitement to us children, and we gathered round Nurse breathless 
and scarlet. 

Just after we had turned into the high road again, whom should 
we see but our new boy friend riding beside a gentleman. When they 
came up, the gentleman said he was much obliged to us about the 
dog, that he knew our father well, and that if we liked we were to 
come over and see Montague, and all his ponies. You may sup¬ 
pose it wasn’t long before we went, and the end of the visit was 
that soon after papa bought us a Shetland pony, too; a wonderful 
little fellow we ■ christened Mousey, and of which I intend to tell 
you later on. Montague was from that day a great friend of ours, 
and as for Smut, why we grew so fond of him, and he of us, too, 
that he often used to come over to call on us by himself, if his mas¬ 
ter happened to be at his lessons. 


A very long dress, and a queer frilled cap, 
She carries a basket, too; 

I’ve no more to say, 

Perhaps, though, you may: 

I am not so clever as you. 








EVA’S CHRISTMAS. 


T SUPPOSE you have played 
charades, and all such games 
in the Christmas holidays ? 
Now I’m going to tell you 
about some English children 
who lived in a village near 
London. I think they got a 
longer vacation than you do. 
A month at Christmas is usual 
in England. So you see a 
great many things can be 
done in so many days. 

In this family there were 
a number of children, and 
among them a little cousin, called Eva. She was a thin, pale-faced 
child, who had been born in India, but had been sent home by the 
doctor’s orders, as the climate of India does not suit British young¬ 
sters. So Eva had been staying in the rectory with her aunt and 
cousin for some months, but now she was expecting her father and 
mother home for Christmas Day. This was Christmas Eve, and a 
heavy snow-storm had come on, which had stopped all communica¬ 
tion with the city, so our poor little friend was in a great excitement 
to know whether her parents had arrived, and as this was her first 
Christmas away from them, she was sad and miserable; so her kind- 
hearted cousins, with the aid of Uncle George, got up a charade to 
amuse her. 

Aunt Mary and Uncle John took their places as “ audience,” 
and then, after sundry whisperings and scufflings to and fro, a little 
bell tinkled, and the curtain was drawn, disclosing Harry in all the 
glory of a Highland chieftain haranguing his followers. 


















Eva's Christmas. 



























EVA’S CHRISTMAS. 


I hen back went the curtain again, and this time the whole tribe 
was seated upon forms one behind the other, boys and girls alike 
in caps and pinafores, while Uncle George, in the very biggest cotton 
gown that could be procured, with an enormous frilled cap and 
spectacles, sat behind a desk with a rod, and put the children 
through their lessons. Their knowledge was really quite extraor¬ 
dinary for their ages! Frankie boldly stated that the Nile had its 
source in the Himalayas; and the old dame smiled and nodded 
serenely, remarking aside, “ La, now, what a credit that child is to 
me, to be sure!” But when it came to the spelling! Eva got 
through “ hippopotamus ” bravely, and Dora managed “ pusillanim¬ 
ity ” with only three mistakes; but Willy actually stuck fast in a 
one-syllabled word, and persisted in 
spelling “all” “awle,” much to the 
old dame’s disgust, and she finally 
ran after him with a rod, tumbling 
over her long dress by the way and 
upsetting the forms, which caused the 
curtain to be drawn amid ill-sup¬ 
pressed giggles. 

The next scene appeared to be 
a store, with a great many articles set out on the counter, and Annie 
bustling about arranging them. Presently in came Harry, got up 
as a dandy, twirling his mustaches, and speaking in a very affected 
voice, as he carelessly turned over the wares in search of a tie, which 
he seemed to have much difficulty in choosing. After a great deal 
of bargaining, he took one of flaring red and yellow spots, and 
sauntered out again. 

There was a little delay before the last scene, and then the cur¬ 
tain drew back upon Eva seated on her throne in all the splendor 
of royalty , and surrounded by her court. To be sure, the regal 
mantle was represented by Aunt Mary’s fur-lined cloak, and the 
crown by a contrivance of peacock’s feathers (Annie’s thought), 












DAISY CHAINS. 


while a screen of the same made her sceptre ; but she looked a very 
queen as she sat there, and was greeted with loud applause. But 
just as the prime minister (Uncle George) was stepping forward, and 
beginning “ My liege,” there was a little stir among the servants at 
the door, and they made way for two figures to pass through. 

The little queen looked up; one glance, and her face changed; 
she threw down her sceptre and ran towards them, crying, “ Oh, 
mother, mother!” and then she got such a hug, and thought she 
felt tears on her face, but of course mother couldn’t be crying on 
such a night as that! And then there was father waiting to kiss his 
little girl, and Aunt Mary waiting to welcome her dear sister, and 
oh, how happy they all were! And how joyful Eva was next morn¬ 
ing, trotting to church between her parents, while the Christmas 
bells, and every one they met, wished them “ A very Merry Christ- 

I >> 

mas! 


DAISY CHAINS. 



F AR away over the sea in 
England they have milder 
winters than we have here in 
America. Sometimes they 
have very little snow or ice, 
and when they do have 
much of these, they are not 
nearly so bad as in this coun¬ 
try. Then there is a beauti¬ 
ful long spring over there, 
too ; oh, such lovely days! 
Sometimes they even have 
the glorious blue sky one sees 
in this part of the world, and 


















Daisy Chains. 





























DAISY CHAINS. 


then when that is so, and the grass is bright green, and the birds 
are all singing, you can't think how sweet an English spring day is. 
In this picture you see it is pretty warm, for the children have no 
wraps on, and you see, too, how different everything is when you 
think that they are making daisy chains. We don't have these dear 
little daisies here. There are lots of big clog daisies, but they are 
not the same. English daisies are little things, not bigger than a 
cent, yellow in the middle, and with the edges tipped with pink. 
Oh! so pretty. They grow in the fields, and by the roadside, 
and even pop up their heads on beautiful lawns; when they do 
that, though, poor little things, the gardeners get very angry at 

them, and go and dig them right up by the 
roots. Well, these three children have 
come out to gather daisies to make long 
chains and a crown, for it is their brother 
Johnnie’s birthday, and they want to sur¬ 
prise him when he comes down to break¬ 
fast. Of course they have been up early. 
They are sensible children, and always rise 
in good time, and so they get the pure 
morning air. It is not eight o’clock yet, 
and they have been out long enough to 
gather a basket of primroses, and are beginning to make the chains. 
When these are all finished, they will make a fine crown, and put 
some green leaves in among the daisies to make it look thick. 
Then they will put a wreath of lovely yellow primroses round his 
plate in the breakfast-room, and then, if there are enough left, they 
will lay a little bunch beside every one’s place at the table. They’ll 
try, too, to hide all Johnnie’s birthday presents under a heap of them, 
and as soon as he sits down they’ll all shout, “Many happy re¬ 
turns ! ’’ and they’ll clap their little hands, and laugh every time he 
discovers a new keepsake under the flowers. Then when break¬ 
fast is over, they'll dress quickly, for their papa has promised to take 





NANCY MACDONALD. 


them to the Crystal Palace, a great big place, all built of glass, where 
they’ll see all kinds of wonderful sights—bears and monkeys and 
birds and toys, and a circus, and everything you can think of to 
please little children; even little Fred is to go, and Johnnie and he 
are to ride on the donkeys, while the girls see the dolls. At six 
o’clock they are to leave, for their mamma has prepared a surprise 
for them this evening. They don’t know yet, but I’ll tell you! The 
girls and boys from next door are coming to tea, and after that they 
will see the magic lantern, and wind up the happy day with a good 
dance. 


NANCY MACDONALD. 



L ITTLE Nancy was the daughter of a 
shepherd far away in Colorado. Now 
you children can hardly know what this 
means, but when I tell you that she and 
her parents lived miles away from any 
other house, on a wild open moor, and 
that for months together their cottage 
was almost buried in snow, and that they 
rarely spoke to any stranger, or indeed 
even saw one, you can form a little idea of the lonely life of a 
Scotch shepherd’s family. Nancy was an only child, but for all that 
she was not spoiled; on the contrary, she was a conscientious and 
industrious girl. I wonder whether any of you would do as she did 
for pure love of learning ? Would any of you rise between four 
and five o’clock and milk cows, and tidy the house, and then, after 
breakfast, walk seven long miles to school, over a dreary moor; and 
then, what’s more, seven miles home again in the afternoon ? I'm 
afraid not many of you care so very much about learning lessons 
as to do anything of the kind! But, you see, you little people live 











/ 



Nancy Macdonald. 













































































NANCY MACDONALD. 


in cities and villages, and have lots of friends, and the chance of 
going to school every day, and that’s just where the difference 
comes in! Boys and girls who have every advantage never seem 
to value anything nearly so much as those children who have to 
work hard and gain everything at a great sacrifice. Nancy never 
in her life had even one such lovely picture-book as every one of 
you can get any day for a few cents; her only book was a Bible, 
which she used to read to her father and mother when the day’s 
work was done. Neither had she any pictures, except a few which 
a poor sick girl had given her, and which her father had pasted on 
her wall so that she might see them as soon 
as she woke in the morning. 

Now I must tell you that, besides be¬ 
ing so anxious to go to school and learn, 

Nancy had also to earn the money to pay 
for such a treat. Her father was so poor, 
he could not afford to spend even ten cents 
weekly, so she made up her mind that by 
saving every moment and by knitting in¬ 
dustriously she would soon earn enough 
herself, by the sale of her work, not only to pay ten cents each week, 
but to buy a new book too. All winter long she made stockings 
and caps, and in spring she had what she called “ a mint o’ money.” 

One summer day, as Nancy was crossing the moor on her way 
from school, she met a party of children who had wandered there 
gathering flowers. One of the little boys, seeing her, shouted, “ Who 
are you ? ” for as none of them had seen her before, she seemed 
to have dropped from the clouds. Of course she answered them as 
nicely as she could, that she was Nancy Macdonald, and that she 
lived across the moor. The young people were delighted with her, 
and after talking for some time, she asked them if they would like 
to come and see where she lived ? One and all shouted, “ Oh, yes, 
very much! ” So it it was agreed that next day, being Saturday, 
















CISSY AND TODDLES. 


they should go. And go they did to be sure, and a happy day it 
was for them, for they saw all sorts of strange things in the funny 
little cottage, and Nancy’s mother gave them hot cakes and sweet 
new milk. As for Nancy, she thought it was the best day in her 
little life, and all the time the youngsters stayed in the neighbor¬ 
hood you may guess they never missed going to see their new 
friend each Saturday. After they went home, too, Jessie, the eldest, 
used to write to Nancy very regularly. Years after, I heard her 
saying to Nurse one day, “ Margaret, do you know Nancy had a 
great deal to do with forming my character, for when I saw her 
struggling along all by herself I felt ashamed, and began to work 
industriously, and I can tell you I learnt more during that visit 
than I ever did before, and I am glad to confess that whatever use 
I am to society now is due entirely to clear-headed, calm-eyed, 
hard-working Nancy Macdonald.” 


CISSY AND TODDLES. 


ISSY is a little girl, and Toddles is her 
cat. One morning Cissy came into her 
mamma’s bed-room, her face beaming 
with joy. “ Mamma, mamma,” cried she; 
“ Cook called me down stairs just now 
and told me she had something to show 
me, and what do you think it was ? Now 
guess.” 

Mamma gravely considered for a sec¬ 
ond, and suggested “a plum cake.” “No, no," cried Cissy; “not 
cake at all; something nicer.” Mamma, aware of the failings of her 
child, thought of one or two favorite goodies in which she knew her 






















/ 








Cissy and Toddles. 















































































































CISSY AND TODDLES. 


little girl took pleasure. But Cissy assured her she was quite 
wrong. “ So give it up, mamma, and I will tell you." Mamma 
accordingly gave it up; and Cissy continued, “Well, Cook called 
me into the kitchen, and then went to the cupboard, and in a basket 
there lay the sweetest, darlingest, dearest little duck of a black kit¬ 
ten you ever saw. ‘ There , Miss Cissy,’ said she, ‘we’ve only the 
old mother and this kitten, and I dare say your mamma wouldn’t 
mind your having it for your own.’ And you wouldn’t mind, 
mamma, would you ? It is the sweetest, prettiest kitty you ever 
saw, with long hair. May I keep it?" 

What could Cissy’s mamma say, but “ of course.’’ A fine pet 
Cissy made of it. The little creature was prettier than most kittens 
are—and all you little folks know how pretty they always are. 

Cissy’s affections were quite set upon her kitten. It was always 

with her, and she petted it, fed it, and 
thought of it night and day. She 
thought of a good many names for it, 
but could not decide on one. She con¬ 
sulted everybody, but still could not fix 
on one. At last, however, the name of 
Toddlekins seemed to please her, so 
she fixed on that, and Toddlekins was, after a little while, shortened 
into Toddles, and Toddles it remained. The cat was taught all 
sorts of tricks by her little mistress. She would jump through your 
hands, or over a stick; she would sit up and beg like a dog; she 
would trust, fetch, and carry, and in fact so accomplished a pussy, 
of such tender years, had never been known before. Toddles was 
indeed one in a thousand amongst cats. Cissy’s little brother, a 
by no means gentle little boy, used to carry Toddles about under 
his arm or over his shoulder, upside down, or any way, and she was 
never, never known to scratch. 

So Toddles was loved by the whole family, and of course most 
of all by her little mistress. It would take too long to tell you here 















CISSY AND TODDLES. 


about all 1 oddles’s sweet ways; but one habit of hers was, that 
whenever she saw her mistress after an absence, she would utter a 
little plaintive miow, and jumping up lightly on her shoulder she 
would kiss her fondly in cat fashion, rubbing her little hairy face 
gently against Cissy’s cheek. 

One day, alas! Cissy returned home from a visit of a few days 
to her aunt, to find Toddles gone. Yes, it is only too true, Toddles 
was lost! Days passed and Toddles did not return, and loud and 
deep were the lamentations over her disappearance. Inquiries were 
made in all directions, but to no purpose; no one knew what had 
become of Cissy’s cat. Days grew into weeks; and now another, 
and, as Cissy’s mamma thought, a much worse trouble befell the 
family. The children had the measles, and Cissy was the worst, 
and longest in getting over them. Whether the loss of Toddles 
preyed on her mind, and so made her worse, I don’t know, but the 
others were well and about, and Cissy was still weak, and could 
only sit up for a few hours in the day. 

One Sunday evening in the summer, her mamma left the little 
girl in bed, and went to church. As she returned home through 
the quiet street, her attention was attracted by a sound behind her, 
and then she felt something touching her dress; she looked down, 
and saw the long-lost Toddles, who knew her in the street and had 
been following her for a long way! and now trotted merrily along 
until they both got home together. 

Cissy had fallen into a doze, listening to the church bells. She 
slept a long while, for she was awakened by—what do you think?— 
a soft and gentle miow , from the chair close beside her bed, and there 
was Toddles, sitting looking at her with loving eyes ! Cissy gave a 
great shout of joy, and then Toddles sprang on the bed and was 
soon kissing her little mistress in her sweet affectionate way. You 
may be sure Toddles was welcomed by everybody. 

After this, Cissy very soon recovered. 








LOST LILY. 



T HIS story be¬ 
gins very sadly; 
but never mind, 
we ll try and cheer 
up by and by. 
Once upon a time, 
then, as they say 
in Fairy tales (but 
this is not a fairy 
tale), a gentleman 
and his wife lived 
in great style in 
Philadelphia. 
They had horses, 
carriages, compa¬ 
ny, and servants, 
and everything else that money will 
bring. When Lily — that’s their 
baby, you know—was born, all the 
people talked about what a rich 
woman she would be when she 
came of age, and Mr. and Mrs. Van 
Stan talked, too, of the splendid 
education she was to have, and how 
she was to go to Europe, and learn all sorts of wise things. The 
little girl had nurses and ponies and toys and dolls; in fact, far 
more things than she could ever use. But this fine time all passed 
before Lily could remember it even, for she was not quite a year 
and a half old when Mr. Van Stan lost nearly ail his property, and 




































































Lost Lily. 








































LOST LILY. 


then servants and carriages, and all the other costly things had to 
be given up. Then they went to Europe; not to the grand places 
they had talked about, though, but to the South of France, in a vil¬ 
lage where they could live on the few hundred dollars a year they 
had still left to them. Mrs. Van Stan made herself very happy in 
this out-of-the-way place, but her husband fretted after all the good 
things he had when he was rich at home, and indeed soon grew ill, 
and before they had been six months in France he died. 

His poor wife grieved so over his loss that the people in the 
place thought she was going to die too, and leave poor Fily an 
orphan; but after a long time she got better, and well enough to 
sit out in the wood at the back of the house, while her little child 
amused herself with her toys and the big cat. Now this cat plays a 
great part in this little girl’s history, so please remember poor Tom! 
Fily trotted about and gathered flowers until she grew tired. Mrs. 
Van Stan was tired, too, so she went into the house and sent Ba- 
bette, the little nurse, to mind Fily, who by this time had fallen 
asleep. Now Babette thought to herself, “ She’s asleep, nobody 
will know if I run away a while;" thinking so, the naughty girl 
went and left the baby. After half an hour she went back to the 
place, but, to her horror, no Fily was there! The little girl had 
waked while she was away, and had got up and wandered into the 
wood. Babette looked for two long hours, and then, not finding 
her, she told Mrs. Van Stan. You may think what a state the poor 
lady was in; she looked everywhere, and then she got the villagers 
to help her, but though each one did his best, no trace of Fily 
could be found. What a night that was for poor Mrs. Van Stan 
nobody can imagine. She did not know whether her child had 
fallen into the river, or whether she had been stolen, and she fretted 
herself ill again with wondering if she would be found next morn¬ 
ing. Next morning came, and many more days, and weeks, and 
indeed years, and yet never a word was heard of Fily. At last, one 
day, after six years, a little girl came to the cottage door and begged 




THE COMING STORM. 


a drink of water. She was dressed in rough clothes like those of 
the mountain villagers, but she was pretty, and as Mrs. Van Stan 
gave her the water, she thought to herself, “ She’s just about as big 
as Lily would have been.” At that moment Tom walked in at the 
door; the child watched him earnestly for an instant, as if she were 
thinking; then suddenly she sprang forward and said, “ Puss, puss!” 
and the cat came to her to be stroked ! It was Lily—she had re¬ 
membered the only English word she had ever been able to say, 
and that one word brought her safely home again, for if she had not 
seen the cat she would have gone away again. Then her mother 
heard that the day the child was lost some shepherds had found 
her, and not* understanding her language, and being only on a 
march through that country, they had taken the child with them and 
cared for her ever since. Need I tell you how grateful Mrs. Van 
Stan was to these poor people, and how happy she was to find her 
child again ? or need I say that “ puss ” was more thought of than 
ever in his long life before ? 


THE COMING STORM. 

The tree-tops rustle, the tree-tops wave, 

They hustle, they bustle; and, down in a cave, 
The winds are murmuring, ready to rave. 

The skies are dimming; the birds fly low, 
Skimming and swimming, their wings are slow; 
They float, they are carried, they scarcely go. 

The dead leaves hurry; the waters, too, 

Flurry and scurry ; as if they knew 
A storm was at hand; the smoke is blue. 







FRANKIE AND I STUDY ASTRONOMY. 



N OW I’m going to tell you 
a story of what my brother 
and I did when we were 
little, and you’ll see what 
naughty children we were, 
and how we were punished 
in the end. 

We had a dear kind 
governess called Miss 
Grey; and one day this 
good little woman took us 
into town to spend the day 
with her sister, Mrs. Moore, 
who was very fond of chil¬ 
dren, and made great pets 
of us. We got there early, and Mrs. Moore took, us a drive, and 
showed us the toy-stores, and bought us some candy, and then went 
with us to the circus in the afternoon. About six o'clock it was all 
over, and we got back to a fine tea, and had nearly an hour to play 
before Miss Grey wanted to go home. That was a happy day; oh ! 
I couldn’t tell you how we enjoyed it! and if it had not led to our 
disobeying, another day, I think we might safely have reckoned it 
as one of the great days of our little lives. Miss Grey and Mrs. 
Moore wanted to talk alone, so they went into the house and left us 
to play in the garden, telling us to stay near the summer-house, 
where we had taken tea. Now we were so delighted that we forgot 
this order altogether, and, almost before Miss Grey had left us, we 
were skipping about and running all over. Very soon a kind old 
gentleman, who lived next door, popped his head over the wall, and 
began to talk to us. He was so nice, such a dear old man; and 








































Frankie ami I Study Astronomy , 

















































































































































































































































































FRANKIE AND I STUDY ASTRONOMY. 


when he asked us if we would like to see the pretty things in his 
house, of course we both said “ Yes.” Frankie got a chair and 
jumped over the wall, but I was frightened, and would not go. It 
seemed such a long time before he came back, too; indeed, Miss 
Grey appeared before he did. 

Now she was a very proper person, and, apart from our having 
done what she had forbidden, she was doubly shocked at Frank 
going into a “strange house.” However, the old gentleman came 
out again, and said, “ Frank was so pleased, perhaps the little girl 
and the ladies would come in too! ” Poor Miss Grey seemed to 
forget we had disobeyed, and so in we all w r ent. I couldn’t tell all 
the lovely things we saw, they were too many to mention; but one 

thing I shall never forget: he showed us a 
telescope, and told us when we grew big 
we should study astronomy, and it was try¬ 
ing to do this that got us into all our trou¬ 
ble. We had lots of lessons then, so we 
put it off till the holidays, by which time, I 
must tell you, Miss Grey had actually mar¬ 
ried the kind old gentleman, and gone to 
live beside her sister. Of course we had another governess; a dis¬ 
agreeable, bad-tempered woman, whose very look frightened us. 
One day she overheard us say we were going to watch the stars that 
evening, and she instantly forbid us to do so. Bed-time came, and 
we had not had a chance to do it, much as we wanted to. When 
Nurse put us to bed, she told us to go to sleep quickly like good 
children, and not to move at all. This we promised, but the minute 
she was gone, up we got and off we crept, only partly dressed, to 
the school-room window. This we opened to have a good look, 
and Frankie was telling me about the Great Bear, when, to our hor¬ 
ror, our governess appeared and seized us, one by each arm. First 
she slapped us, and then in her rage she pushed us both out of the 
window on a rickety balcony, which we had been ordered “ not to 





LAURA JANE LAZENBY. 


touch.” Oh ! how afraid we were ! we dared not move for fear the 
whole thing would fall, so we held on tight to the window and 
screamed. To drown our voices that awful woman began to play 
the piano and sing. I think soon we should have let go and fallen 
to the ground, or perhaps died of fright, if Nurse had not come 
rushing to our help. She put us to bed, and gave us hot milk, for we 
were chattering with the cold, for you see we had been an hour out¬ 
side without our clothes. All next day we were in bed, and for 
many days afterwards too; as you may guess, we were all the time 
afraid of being punished as soon as we got better, but mamma told 
us she would forgive us, as we had already had a heavy punish¬ 
ment for our disobedience, because she was so thankful we were 
alive, for the balcony had fallen down that night soon after we left it. 


LAURA JANE LAZENBY. 



her. They allowed her to 


N OT very long ago, 
there lived a little 
girl named Laura Jane 
Lazenby. She had sev¬ 
eral brothers and sisters, 
and a papa and mamma 
like everybody else. 

A very good papa and 
mamma they were too; 
perhaps I should rather 
say kind, for they were 
too indulgent to her; in 
fact, I am sorry to say, 
they completely spoiled 
do as she liked, and what do you think 

























































































LAURA JANE LAZENBY. 


she liked to do ? why, just nothing at all! But she was their eldest 
daughter, and they thought a great deal of her. 

Look at this picture. There she is, dressing herself in the 
morning. After washing herself, very slowly, and putting on some 
of her clothes—not her stockings and shoes, that would be too 
much trouble—she holds up her frock, and looks at it, and thinks 
how much pleasanter it would be to get into bed again, and have 
her sleep out. , 

Then when she gets down to breakfast, it is nearly over, and 
she has cold tea, and hard toast, and if she complains her brothers 

say, “ Serve her right.” She is too lazy to be 
cross, so she listens quietly, and wishes she had 
no lessons to do, and she is so slow about them, 
that she is just beginning when the others have 
all finished, and have run away to play. When 
she plays it is in a sleepy kind of way. If she 
has a doll, she takes so little care of its clothes 
that it is soon spoilt and dirty, and if it is given 
to her undressed, the poor thing never gets any 
clothes at all! 

But now I must get to the pith of my story, 
as I am going to tell you all that befell Laura 
Lazenby on a fine spring day, entirely in con¬ 
sequence of her bad habits. 

One afternoon Aunt Kate came to see them. Now she was 
the very best of aunts, and often gave treats to her nephews and 
nieces. Upon this occasion, Aunt Kate said to them: “ My dears, 
I intend to take you all to-morrow to the museum ; and then, what 
perhaps you will like best of all, to a splendid toy-store, full of the 
most beautiful toys imaginable, and if you are all good children, and 
mind what I say, I will give each of you whichever toy you may set 
your heart upon. But now, my dears, as we shall go down by the 
railway, you must not keep me waiting a moment when I come to 






















Laura Jane Lazenby. 





















































































































LAURA JANE LAZENBY. 


fetch you. I shall be here at half-past eight o’clock precisely, and 
if any of you are not ready I shall start without you, for we must be 
at the station at the right time.” 

Then she went away, after many good-byes and kisses, and a 
shower of thanks, as you may guess. Frederick and Laura decided 
that they never were so happy before, and could scarcely eat their 
supper for thinking of the pleasure before them, while the two little 
ones fairly jumped for joy. But the night came, as it always will, 
whether we are pleased or sorry, and it was time to go to bed. 

Frederick dreamed all night of Aunt Kate; and the two little 
ones went to sleep thinking of the toys promised them, and hesi¬ 
tating which they should choose. Grace thought of a nice little 
work-box, with scissors and thimble in it; then it occurred to her 
why should the dolls be forgotten, why not buy something for them ? 
And Tommy went to sleep with drums and trumpets sounding in 
his ears, and hoops and balls bounding before his closed eyes. 

But as for Laura, she was too indolent to be excited about 
anything; she thought it would be very nice to go, and that Aunt 
Kate was very good, but that it was better to go to sleep now. It 
was indeed a great drawback to the pleasure, that she would have 
to get up so early the next morning. 

Long before seven o’clock, Frederick and Grace and Tommy 
were up and ready to be washed and dressed, when Nurse should 
come to call them. They certainly did not want much calling. 

But when she went to Laura, there she was, fast asleep ! Nurse 
said, “ Come, Miss Laura, get up directly, your aunt will be here in 
an hour. Get up at once! I will come again in half an hour to 
finish dressing you, and then we will all go down to breakfast, and 
be ready at half-past eight.” Laura said she would get up, and 
away went Nurse; but no sooner was she gone than Laura said to 
herself, “ An hour is more than I want to dress in, and bed is so 
comfortable;” and so she turned over on the other side, and in 
three minutes was as sound asleep as ever. 






LAURA JANE LAZENBY. 


At a little past eight in came Nurse. “ Why, Miss Laura, asleep! 
Miss Kindly will be here in twenty minutes. I have been expecting 
to hear you ring, now I must send some one else in to you, for I 
must go and put on my bonnet, and get my breakfast. I am sorry 
for you, but you know it is your own fault.” 

Then did not Laura get up quickly for once! Jane, the nurse¬ 
maid, came to help her, but in their hurry everything went wrong, as 
it always does on those occasions. The soap was not to be found, 
the clean towels were not on the horse. Then her best frock was 
torn out of the gathers behind, and two buttons came off her boots. 
In short, she was not half dressed when Aunt Kate’s carriage drove 
up, and the three other children, with Nurse, got in in high spirits. 

“ Where is Laura ? ” 

The nursemaid came down. “ Oh, ma’am, Miss Laura is not 
ready, but if you will wait a quarter of an hour she will have fin¬ 
ished dressing and have her breakfast.’’ 

“ And be too late for the train,” said Aunt Kate, “ and have to 
go by a much later one, and spoil the day’s pleasure for the others. 
No. Brown, drive on ; ” and away they went. 

Poor Laura looked out of her bed-room window, and saw them 
eo, and then sat down and cried fit to break her heart. 

Now perhaps some people may think this cruel, but I do not. 
Her papa and mamma, who spoiled her, would no doubt have 
waited, and so spoiled everything else; but Aunt Kate knew better. 
She said, “ It will be a lesson to her,” and so it was. She thought 
of it all day, and she said to herself, “ I will get up early to-morrow 
morning,” and she did; and gradually from that time she became 
more active and energetic, and is now just as brisk as other children 
of her age, which I’m sure you will be glad to hear. 

But before I end this true story, I must tell you that the day 
was the happiest that ever was spent, and kind Aunt Kate brought 
home a very pretty present for Laura, to console her. 

Mind you get up when you are called in the morning. 



MISCHIEF. 


/I Y sister Kate was always the 
best of us all, yet even she 
was sometimes naughty, as you 
shall find when you've read this 
tale. You must know we all had 
very fine hair; even the boys had 
wonderful “ crops,” as the hair¬ 
dresser used to say. Jack had 
yellow curls that hung down on 
his shoulders, and looked lovely; 
but Kate was the one who carried 
the palm. Her hair was a sort 
of goldy color, thick, and so long 
that it hung below her waist. When we used to walk in the Park 
with our nurse, people very often stopped to look at Kate’s curls, 
and to say what a fortune such glorious hair was. 

Kate herself was very proud of it, but oh, dear! it was such a 
trouble. At night, when Jane combed it, it was sure to be in hor¬ 
rible tangles, and then she would tug and pull, and hurt too. One 
night, when Kate was about eight years old, she had had more pain 
than usual with it, so she secretly made up her mind that she would 
endure it no longer; so next morning, when everybody was busy, 
she ran into mamma’s room, found a large pair of scissors, and cut 
it off! She thought she wouldn’t take it all off at first, but do it 
little by little, so that she could see how it looked! Finally, she 
ended by cutting it close, like a boy’s, and in this trim she presented 
herself to Jane. Poor old Jane! To this day I remember the hor¬ 
ror on her face when she saw all the lovely ringlets gone. “ For 
pity’s sake ! " was all she uttered at first—she always said that when 
she was extra much excited. After she had stared a minute, she 






























* 



Mischief. 




































THE RETRIEVER CAT. 


came forward, took Kate by the arm, and led her silently to mamma. 
If Jane had been amazed, mamma was ten times more so; indeed 
she was so sorry and vexed that she cried. Of course, when Kate 
saw her cry, she began to sob herself, and she “ felt like a thief,” she 
told me, when mamma said, “ Go to the nursery, Miss.” 

After this, for three whole days, Kate was in disgrace; that is, 
she was not allowed to speak to any one in the house. She could 
walk about, and was perfectly free to do what she liked, but she 
could “ neither speak nor be spoken to; ” and I can tell you that by 
the fourth day she had repented of being so mischievous, and after 
that, I think if Jane had pulled her little head off while she combed 
it poor Kate would never have said a word. 


THE RETRIEVER CAT. 



HIS clever fellow 
was able to do 
many wonderful 
things, and 
among them was 
the way he used 
to go with his 
master to hunt. 
If you showed 
a gun he was 
ready in an in¬ 
stant ! Many a 
poor hare or rab¬ 
bit has he caught 

and brought home. Do you know he had a friend, a big jackdaw, 
and they actually used to go out together hunting on their own 















The Retriever Cat. 








































THE RETRIEVER CAT. 


account. We never could find out where they went, but we knew 
what they caught, for we used to see them coming home dragging 
“birds, beasts, and fishes,” by turns, up the garden path. Once they 
tried to bring in a hare through a hole in the hedge, but it was too 
large and they couldn’t manage it. You should have heard the fuss 
they made! They chattered and squealed and fluttered and put 
their backs up, and finally decided to get some one to help them. 
For months these two used to go out this way. But I began this 
story to tell you about the clever way puss hunted with his master; 
so I must not forget. 

The young man found how fond he was of poaching, and 
thought this taste might be turned to account, so he began by 
teaching him not to be afraid of the gun, and to walk by his side 
till he fired. It was hard work at first, but the cat soon got accus¬ 
tomed to it, and would dart to the spot where the game fell, and 
bring it all to his master, just as if he were a sporting dog. Indeed, 
in time, Tom was quite as useful as a dog. At first, Nero and Hector 
used to growl at him, and consider him a great intruder; but Tom 
soon won them over by dividing his share of the spoil with them. 
Many a day Tom was far more useful than either of them, and to 
watch him carry what he caught was wonderful. Whether it were 
a rabbit or a hare, or even a poor little bird, he carried it carefully, 
and never thought of such a thing as stopping even to think how 
good it was! When he laid anything at his master’s feet, he got so 
excited that he walked back and forwards, and purred and made a 
great display of delight. He was always rewarded in some way 
for his work, after which he was generally so tired that he would 
lie down on the garden path and have a little quiet snooze all 
by himself. As he was taking a rest this way one day a strange 
dog came into the yard, and seeing Tom lying so still, I suppose, 
thought it would be fine fun to worry him a little. So the big 
coward began to tease puss, who you may guess was very indig¬ 
nant, and tried to defend himself by slapping his tormentor’s face. 



CONSTANCY. 


This so insulted the dignity of the great dog that, without more ado, 
he caught Tom in the middle of the back and crushed his spine in¬ 
stantly. I needn't tell you that that was the end of the poor pointer! 
He was buried that afternoon by the children under the walnut tree, 
where he had been so fond of taking his nap, and Hero and Hector 
were his chief mourners. 


CONSTANCY. 



ITTLE Ruth looked at her 
dolly one day, 

Said: “ Dolly, they wish me 
to give you away. 

They say you are old, and I 
know it’s quite true, 

But dolly, dear dolly, I can’t 
part from you. 


“Your color has faded, your 
nose is quite gone ; 

Yet I love you as well as the 
day you were born : 
You’ve great cracks on your face, and scarcely a hair; 

Yet dolly, my dear, to me you are fair. 


“ And, dolly, you’ve always been such a good child, 
So gentle and patient, so sweet and so mild ; 

You never seem peevish, and you never cry, 

You don’t even give just the ghost of a sigh. 

















Constancy . 






















































CONSTANCY. 


‘ Though you’re hurt, darling dolly, too often, I fear, 

But you are so brave that you won’t shed a tear: 

And although you've one arm, one leg, and no nose, 
You’re dearer to me because of your woes. 

But what was the hardest and crudest sting, 

Was that father once called you a horrid old thing; 

He said: ‘ What a battered and wretched old fright; 

Do take her away, pray, out of my sight! ’ 

And, dolly, he said that a new doll he’d buy, 

To find me a nice one he really would try, 

She should have two legs, and more than one arm, 

I am sure that papa did not mean any harm. 

’Tis strange, dolly dear, big people don't know 
That it isn’t for beauty one loves some things so; 
Besides, we are told that no beauty will last; 

Should our love, with the beauty, then go with the past 


Yes, they did squabble, scratched in their spite; 
Now they are friends again—friends again quite; 
Look how they lovingly each give a kiss; 

Now we are sure that there’s not much amiss. 


An old person once said, “ I will try 
A very large bonnet to buy; 

The neighbors will see, 

And all envy me 
This very large bonnet I buy.” 






PRINCE AND ROVER. 


Y OU never saw such grand old 
fellows as these! They were 
such immense dogs that, of course, 
they could not be kept in the house, 
though both of them used to sneak 
in now and then, and, sitting down 

tails on the floor, as much as to 
say, “ Pray, excuse us.” They each 
had a kennel in the yard, and were 
taken the very greatest care of. 
Mary, the chambermaid, was so 
fond of them that she used to rise 
early every morning to play with them. Big woman though she 
was, she really loved the dogs, and often would hurry through her 
work to have a romp with them. 

Little Harold used to ride on their backs; the cook always 
took them to market with her; the gardener thought “ there niver 
wuz sich like dogs.” In fact, one and all, we thought them the finest 
animals in the whole world. Our father was very fond of them, too, 
and every afternoon when he took his walk they went with him. 
The clever old things actually learned to know the time he started, 
and a few minutes before, they would both begin to bark and cry; 
I suppose to attract his attention in case he might forget them! As 
we lived in the suburbs of the city, we could still find plenty of coun¬ 
try roads and open fields, and it was generally through these father 
used to go. Sometimes he would cross some private grounds, 
for, being the clergyman, everybody knew him, and he could go 
wherever he pleased. One fine day, the dogs had scampered on 
ahead, while he stopped to speak to a friend; suddenly, while he 


in a guilty kind of way, thud their 











































Prince and Rover 




















































THE FIRST CHRISTMAS AT SCHOOL. 


was talking, up tore Rover in a great state of excitement, barking, 
and dragging him by the coat, as if saying “Come with me in¬ 
stantly /” On looking round, father noticed that Prince was missing, 
and it struck him something was wrong, so off he hurried where 
Rover led, and there to his horror he saw poor Prince caught in a 
trap. In his race with Rover he had jumped a little hedge, and 
landed in a trap on the other side. His howls were dreadful to 
hear, for he was in great pain. Father took him out as quickly as 
possible, and, with the help of a man in the field, got him as far as 
the veterinary surgeon's, which fortunately was quite close. 

There he heard what he had expected, that Prince was seriously 
hurt, and that he must be left with the doctor for about three weeks. 
If you’d seen the poor thing’s face when he was left behind! He 
didn’t seem to understand it at all. During the time he was there 
Rover used to go over every day to see him, and I’m glad to tell 
you that he came home at the end of the three weeks almost well, 
though he was always a little bit lame after that accident. 


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS AT SCHOOL. 



CHARLIE and Jack were two 
New England boys, but at the 
time I’m going to tell you 
about they were far, far away 
from America. They had spent 
some time at a boarding-school 
in Boston, but their father de¬ 
cided that it would be a great 
advantage for them in the fu¬ 
ture if they could speak Ger¬ 
man and French well, so to 
























The First Christmas at School. 















































































THE FIRST CHRISTMAS AT SCHOOL. 


gain this end easily—for you learn with much less trouble when 
you are little—Dr. Robertson took them to Frankfort in Nassau, 
and there he left them, the only English speaking fellows in the 
house. Didn't they feel dull at first! and didn't they want to go 
home! They thought it was an awful place. Why, they couldn’t 
speak to any of the boys, and they were watched when they talked 
to each other; so, take it all in all, they were pretty miserable for a 
while. But they soon got accustomed to everything, and when they 
began to speak German, it wasn’t quite so bad. They learned to 
rise in the dark, and eat dry bread for breakfast, yes, and want more 
than they got, too. Boys there don’t leave anything on their plates 
the way they do here, I’m glay to say. In fact, they got into the 
strange ways in a little while, and, as they told their mother in their 

letters, they “ rather liked to spre- 
chen Sie ! ” When they went, it 
was about September, so they 
were able to be in the open air 
a great deal, learning out of 
doors, going through gymnastic 
exercises, and all the sensible 
things Germans invent to make their boys hardy. But times 
changed; it grew too cold to play much outside, and the after- 
lesson-times had to be spent in the school-room. As Christmas 
drew near, the boys talked a great deal about going home, and 
about the holidays, and all the grand things they were going to do. 
They spent most of the evenings making presents, sawing brackets, 
making boxes, and the other hundred and one things boys do in 
Vaterland, and this, together with the thought of their home over 
the wide ocean, and of all their brothers and sisters would be doing 
in Boston, made our two friends just as miserable again as they had 
been at the beginning. 

How they did wish the vacation was over! Christmas wasn’t 
Christmas away from home, they thought, and as it drew nearer 










THE FIRST CHRISTMAS AT SCHOOL. 


they found it harder and harder to hear the boys even mention it. 
At length the day came for the fellows to leave, and Charlie and 
Jack watched them mount the coach and dash down the hill towards 
the city, cheering and throwing up their hats in their joy. Then 
they found themselves all alone , so they sat down to talk. They 
thought they would surely have had a letter, but here was the after¬ 
noon of the 24th, and “ the postman wouldn’t come on Christmas 
Day.” These and such desolate thoughts were going through 
their little heads, when suddenly the Herr Doctor called them, and 
told them if they went to their room they would find something 
from home ! How they ran ! Sure enough, there were two boxes 
from Boston, and two letters as well. “ Good news from every¬ 
body,” they said. “ Now, for the trunks.” What a number of beau¬ 
tiful toys! boats for next summer, tops, balls, cord, penknives, and 
all sorts of things ; and besides cakes, maple-sugar, and candy, there 
were gloves and caps and mitts. Indeed, I couldn’t tell you what 
wasn't there. I know they told me it took them all Christmas Day 
looking over their treasures; and they thought if only “ the others ” 
had been there, it would have been after all the best Christmas in 
their lives. 


Two loving little sisters, going for a walk, 
Chatter, chatter gayly, pleasantly they talk ; 

What do they talk of? Dolls, politics, and bees; 
Both have the same views—that one plainly sees. 


Sweet are the hedges close to the stile, 
Laden with blossoms of May; 

Sweet sings the river that murmurs below, 
The whole of the happy spring day. 








HOW I FOUGHT DAN’S BATTLE. 


D AN was not my own property, I must 
begin by telling you, and even when I 
first knew him his best days were past. He 
was a large retriever, black, with a little tan 
about him. He was no longer useful in 
the field when I first went to stay with his 
master; but he was kept as a watch-dog, 
and had a comfortable kennel in the yard 
where he was chained up. Dear old dog! 
he was much spoiled by all the family, and 
as he grew older his peculiarities increased. He was gentle to us 
all, most loving and considerate to the children, but he was terribly 
quarrelsome, and would fight savagely with strange dogs. Often 
and often have our country walks been spoiled by the battles of 
master Dan, in which he generally came off victorious, I must say, 
although, in those days even, he was not so young as he had been. 
But the last time I stayed in the dear old rectory, which was Dan’s 
home, poor Dan was past fighting his own battles, and I had to fight 
one for him, as you shall hear. 

It was lovely June weather when we went to pay our annual 
visit; summer had come in good earnest, the trees were in full leaf, 
the hedges full of blossom, the air soft and full of sweetness. I 
noticed a great change in Dan from the previous year; he had been 
pretty active up to now, but I was quite touched to see how the old 
dog was changed this year. He seemed so weak in the back, and 
his hind legs would often quite give way. He did not generally 
ask to go out unless I was of the party, and his mistress used to 
say—and I believe it—that he made the most of his rheumatism 
and weakness to get my sympathy! I think, too, he pretended that 
he could not get over a stile sometimes, and barked and stuck half 





How I Fought Dans Battle. 












































































































HOW I FOUGHT DAN’S BATTLE. 


through it, to make me come back and help him, when by a little 
effort he could have done it alone. 

One morning I was going to the village, through the rectory 
garden and churchyard. Dan came too: it was so sunny that I 
carried my umbrella up. We went from the garden into the church¬ 
yard, which we crossed, intending to pass through the lytch gate into 
the village street, for I was going to the village store. 

Just as we passed the church door Dan’s back bristled, and he 
gave a low deep growl, which was answered on the other side of the 
gate by a growl quite as savage. I, fearing a fight, rushed towards 
the gate to fasten the latch, but before I could reach it it was pushed 
open by a large retriever, young and strong; a terrible enemy of 
poor Dan's. In a moment the fight began, the young dog sprang 
upon old Dan, and he was down, his hind legs giving way at once. 
He still had some fine teeth, but not so many as the other dog; 
nevertheless he snarled and bit and did his best, showing good 
fight, though he had no chance. I could not bear to see him tor¬ 
tured, so, shutting my umbrella, I beat the strange dog with all my 
might and main. Alas ! the stick broke, and the wires bent double, 
and the dog seemed none the worse. In an agony of fear that I 
should see my poor old friend killed before my eyes, I seized the 
strange dog with both my hands by the cuff of his neck, and tried 
to drag him off Dan. Although I scarcely lifted him, this distracted 
his thoughts; he turned viciously upon me, and bit my hand. 

The people of the store now saw and heard what was going on 
and came to the rescue, but not too soon, for both Dan and I were 
worsted in the fight. I saved Dan's life that time I know, and he 
knew it too; for his love for me from that day was doubled if possi¬ 
ble. I don't think he ever quite got over that encounter; and before 
the next summer poor Dan was dead. 







MASTIFF PUPPIES. 



ON’T you think these are sweet 
little pups ? We used to think 
so. They were so cunning, but 
mischievous, too, unfortunately! 
though, for all that, we thought 
them just lovely. We had great 
work to know what to call them. 
The boys wanted some long 
Greek names after the three 
Graces ; the gardener said “ call’m 
Tom, Dick, and Harry; ” but none 
of us cared for these names, so we pitched on ones the coachman 
thought of—Good, Better, and Best. Perhaps you will think these 
silly, but if you’d seen the pups you’d have thought them suitable. 
There were three of us, so we each got a dog. Mine grew to be a 
splendid fellow. Oh, my! if he trod on your toe you would re¬ 
member it, I promise you. He was very heavy and tall, and just 
the color of a lion. What a voice he had, too ! not unlike a lion's, 
so deep and strong. He was wonderfully good-natured, and would 
let all the children round play with him as much as they liked. He 
found out the time the girls got their lunch at school, and every 
day he would go and lie down near the door, smacking his lips, as 
much as to say, “ Give me some, too.” 

I taught him to open and shut the door—to ring the street 
bell—to go to the' baker’s with a cent and buy a cracker—to 
“ speak ” for what he wanted, and I don’t know how many tricks 
besides. 

Now, though this fellow was such a monstrous size that all 
the dogs kept out of his way on the streets, and would run past him 

















MASTIFF PUPPIES. 


with a frightened air, yet, I’m ashamed to tell you, he was a great 
coward. Why, one day a tiny little pig scared him nearly out of 
his senses! He was so frightened at a dead rat tnar he hid behind 
my dress, and he never dared go through a field where there was a 

cow! But you know every person has 
his oddities, and why shouldn’t dogs 
have them too ? My dog and his broth¬ 
ers were very fond of each other, and 
were nearly broken-hearted when they 
grew up and had to separate! Good is 
now living in London, where he has a 
big green frame house near the Crystal 
Palace. Better is in Paris, and lives in a 
marble mansion, which used to belong 
to the emperor's dog; and as for Best, he 
is settled in New York. He, in keep¬ 
ing with his name, is the best off of the 
three, five heard. Unfortunately I had 
to sell him; so he and I have not been quite as intimate lately, but 
every time I meet him, we have a talk about old times. I heard 
the other day that he and his master were going to Europe, in which 
case he will probably meet his brothers. 



There was an old person who heard 
Some shots fired near, at a bird; 

Said he, “ Now I remember, 

'Tis the first of September; 

But there flies the fortunate bird.” 





Ala stiff Puppies . 

















































































































A QUARREL. 



C HILDREN have all been told that “Birds in 
their little nests agree,” but it is a very doubt¬ 
ful matter. Those who have been able to look out 
of their windows into the nests say that the little 
creatures quarrel dreadfully, and try to tumble one 
another out. But at any rate, the two birds in the 
picture are having a dispute. This 
ugly cockatoo has flown at the lit¬ 
tle blackbird with the most horrible 
screams, but he stands his 
ground bravely and seems 
to have something to say. 
As for the cat, she looks as 
if she’d like to have a fin¬ 
ger, or rather a claw, in the 
pie! 

“You’ve broken your 
promise,” cries the black¬ 
bird. 


“ I haven’t,” screams the cockatoo. 

“ Well, if you haven’t, you’ve bent it awfully,” says the black¬ 
bird, and he has the last word. 


Out comes a fledgeling out of his shell; 

He’s out in the world, but he won’t see it well; 
For off on his journey he’s come but one mile, 
And thinks he’ll go back again, to rest awhile. 




























































FRANKIE LOST. 



£ HE day Frankie was lost was when I really 
had my first great trouble. I remember we 
were all having tea in the nursery, when sud¬ 
denly mamma came in in a lovely white dress, 
for she was going to dine in the city, and 
had now come to bid us “ Good-night.” We 
all wanted to go with her, but of course that 
was out of the question for little children like 
us. Frankie told Nurse he “ would go,” but 
she said, “ Nonsense, dear; be a good boy and 
we’ll go in the fields.” But it made him so angry to think he 
couldn’t run after the carriage, that he grew very naughty, and had 
to-be sent from the table. He was told to “stay in the school¬ 
room until you are called;” but when Nurse sent for him, to her 
dismay she found he was not there! All the house was searched, 
but no sign of Frankie. The garden was tried, but no answer came 
to any of the shouts of the men. Nurse was nearly frantic, all the 
servants were beside themselves, our gov¬ 
erness was nearly wild, as we had been left 
in her care; but, as for me, I can’t tell you 
even to this day how I felt. I dread to 
think about the despair I was in. I cried 
and sobbed, and would not be comforted. 

When bed time came I couldn’t sleep 
with thinking that my brother was perhaps 
stolen, or, at the best, wandering about all 
alone. Our pleasant walks “ in the fields ” 
had been changed into a fruitless search; 
and now the night was half gone and no tidings of him! I had 
cried myself into such a state that Nurse had me in her arms trying 









DUCKS AND DRAKES. 


to console me, when, oh joy! a servant came in carrying our poor, 
naughty, lost Frankie. 

It seemed that when he ran into the nursery, it occurred to him 
that he might, if he ran very fast, see the last of the carriage as it 
drove out of the lodge gates. He had taken his little hat, and his 

toy gun with the idea of shooting 
any wild animals he might meet 
with—for he and I fancied for a 
long time that lions and tigers 
might be found in the park. He 
ran as fast as his little legs could 
carry him after the carriage, which 
every instant grew further distant 
from him; and then, when it dis¬ 
appeared down the road, he had 
turned back and thrown himself, 
weary and exhausted, under the shadow of an oak tree, where he 
had fallen asleep, and been discovered by the butler, who was out in 
search of him. We were both soon happily asleep, and so ended that 
first trouble of mine. 

DUCKS AND DRAKES. 

OU all know what ducks look like, and you 
all know what ducks taste like—at least 
most probably you do, though as they are 
indigestible, perhaps they are forbidden 
fruit to some of you little folk. However, I do 
not think I need give you a description of the 
appearance or ways of ducks. Who does not 
remember seeing the sweet, little, fluffy, yellow 
or black ducklings, just beginning to swim after 
their mother, seeming to run upon the surface of 
the water with their tiny yellow legs and webbed feet. 




rather 

















Frankie Lost. 



































































Ducks and Drakes. 











































































































































DUCKS AND DRAKES. 


Only the other day I took my little son into Central Park, and 
on the round pond there we saw a delightful little family of nine 
ducklings, at once the pride, joy, and anxiety of their mother’s heart, 
as all you little people are to your dear mothers. Looking at these 
little creatures the other day reminded me of a similar family of 
ducklings who came to an untimely and mysterious end. 

I was staying in the country with some friends, who had a nice 
pond on which sundry ducks and drakes used to disport themselves, 
greatly to their satisfaction. And one summer’s day as I strolled 
near the pond, I discovered a proud mother-duck surrounded by 
ten lovely, little, fluffy babies, all flocking round their anxious old 
mother. When I returned to the house, I remarked to my hostess 
that she had a nice little family party on the 
pond. She expressed her satisfaction, and a 
hope that the baby ducks would do well and 
thrive. 

The next morning I was sorry to see only 
nine little ducklings swimming after their mo¬ 
ther. The next morning there were only eight. 

The next but seven, and so on; every morning 
one less, until at last, like the ten little niggers, 

“ there were none.” 

It was very mysterious ! And it was only 
when the last little duckling met its untimely 
fate that we knew who was the cruel cause of their death. And it 
was I who witnessed the murder of that last poor duckling. 

I came down to the pond one morning very early, and discov¬ 
ered the mother-duck evidently in great trouble, fluttering and 
quacking. .And what do you think was the cause of her trouble ? 
Why, a wicked old drake—the father of the ducklings—was holding 
his own little child tight by the neck with its head under the water. 
It was quite dead before I could rescue it. And thus had the cruel 
old drake treated all the others, killing them from jealousy. 






















Little Jack Horner." 
























































































LITTLE JACK HORNER. 


O be sure you have all heard of Little Jack 
Horner, who sat in the corner, eating the 
Christmas pie. So you shan’t hear it 
again. But I will tell you about a boy I 
know who really is called Jack Horner, 
and who also sits in a corner, but instead 
of eating the pie, he tries to draw. He’s 
only nine years old, so he can’t do much 
yet, but he tries; and did you ever hear of 
any one who tries who doesn’t succeed 
some time or other? 

Jack’s sister is an artist, and paints 
lovely cards for Christmas and birthdays, 
and all sorts of times, and though he says he doesn’t mean to paint 
“ cards,’’ still he wants to paint something. He generally has only 
a pencil and paper, but lately he has worked so well that Mary says 
he may try to use a brush. He’s learning to put on the color 
smoothly, but as it will take him some time, he will have uninter¬ 
esting work for awhile; but he doesn't mind that. He’s not like 
one little boy I know, who lay on the floor and screamed when his 
mother wanted him to learn his letters. “ No, he wouldn’t,” he said; 
“ he was going to read ‘ Robinson Crusoe ’ first , and learn his let¬ 
ters after!” Isn’t that stupid? He hadn’t thought, you see, that 
“you must creep before you walk?” Did you ever sing a hymn 
at Sunday-school which says: 

Little drops of water, 

Little grains of sand, 

Make the mighty ocean, 

And the pleasant land. 














LITTLE JACK HORNER. 


Only very silly boys and girls think they can do everything all at 
once. But you can do something every day, and by the end of 
even one short year you’ll be surprised yourself at all you’ve got 
through. Jack only draws one little half hour each morning, and 
he has only been learning for eight months, yet he has done some 
quite pretty things. But what would you think of him sitting down 
to work for a hundred and twenty-one hours right off? Why, nobody 
could do it; but every boy or girl can manage to get half an hour, 
I think. 

I’m going to tell you an old, old fable, and if you’ll try and 

remember it, it may often help 
you, and certainly it will show 
you that the half hours, though 
not much separately, are very 
much when counted together. 
A man had a number of sons, 
who were constantly disagree¬ 
ing, and nothing he could say 
would prevent it. One day he 
showed them some sticks, and 
told the eldest to break one, 
which he did in an instant. 
Then the father asked him to tie them together and try and break 
them; but none of the boys could even bend them. “ Now,” said 
the old man, “ you see what it is to be united. Alone you are very 
little use, but together you are strong.” One of the little half hours 
that Jack draws would not amount to much alone, but wait till 
they’re all added together, and you’ll see what wonders they have 
done. 



Digging, digging on the sands, with a bran-new spade * 
Piling up the sand so high, until a castle’s made. 







MY PUG. 


O NCE when a friend of mine was going away for a few weeks, 
she asked me whether I would take care of her dog while she 
was gone. I said I would, of course; but by the time she came 
back I had made up my mind I must have a pug of my very own. 
Hers had been such a cunning little thing, that I felt I must always 
have just such another. I was thinking of accepting a toy terrier 
which my brother had offered me, when one day, as I was walking 
home from the Park, my ideas on the subject were entirely changed; 
for it was on that day I first saw my sweet little Topsy—the hand¬ 
somest little pug in the world, / think. > 

The tiny thing was held up in a man’s hand for sale, and 
when I saw the little helpless creature shiv¬ 
ering, and blinking, and looking altogether 
so forlorn and wretched—her tiny black 
face puckered up with even more wrinkles in 
it, from misery, than would naturally have 
been there—I felt immense compassion for 
her, as well as a strong wish to buy her. 

Before many hours the curious little 
thing was bought, but oh! the trouble she 
was to bring up. I had even to feed her in 
the night; although she had a lovely warm 
basket, she would have died of the cold if I 
hadn’t sometimes taken her into bed with me. 

Topsy grew, and every day became more affectionate and 
intelligent. The children loved her, and do so still. It was only 
the other day that one of them said to me, when I was reproving 
the little dog for her excessive greediness—her great but only fault— 
“But, mamma, she thinks she ought to have the same as we do; I m 
sure she thinks she’s one of us.” Little Topsy is their great friend 
in all their troubles. If she sees them cry, the creature runs to them 
directly, anxious, if they would let her, to lick the tears away. 













MY PUG. 


Whoever seems in trouble is the one that Topsy takes under her 
protection. 

One day I had been writing for a long time, and, in conse¬ 
quence, had a terrible back-ache; so I got up from my chair and lay— 
as I have sometimes made the children lie—at full length upon the 
floor. Topsy was in the room, in her basket by the fire, and pres¬ 
ently I felt a cold nose against my neck, and heard little snuffles 
and whines in my ear; soon the small dog began to pat me with her 

paw; but I did not speak, or move, 
just to see what she would do. 
First she pricked up her ears and 
listened, and then she walked all 
round me, every now and then 
stopping to sniff at me, or give 
me a pat, getting more and more 
troubled every moment; until, 
at last, she heard me laughing a 
little to myself; then she gave a 
loud bark, and ran round me, bit¬ 
ing at my hair and scampering 
about like a little mad thing; and in the end she jumped on me, 
and looked in my face with her great round eyes, trying to wag her 
tightly curled tail. 

I am sorry to say that Topsy is horribly greedy; and as she 
knows / won't let her eat too much, what do you think she does ?— 
why, she steals! But she always betrays herself, on her return up 
stairs, by the look of shame that she bears upon the whole of her 
little person. Her tail is uncurled, her great rolling black eyes, that 
are generally so honest as well as so loving, have a craven look 
about them, and she dare not look any of us in the face. Alas! 
poor Topsy's greediness is a sad weakness—but who is faultless ? 

I could tell you lots about Topsy, but I’ve told you so much 
already that I must think of something else now. 

























My Pug. 


















































































































LITTLE TROTS. 


D EAR little Trots! She is only five years old, but for wisdom 
and goodness she might be fifty. Little Trots has many 
pleasures it is true, but she has her cares as well, for mother is 
often ailing and Trots is the eldest of four, so perhaps she is more 
thoughtful than is usual with little persons of her age. At all events 
she walks along now anything but carelessly; she notices with quite 
a thoughtful air the pretty wild-flowers in her path. 

Trots had not reached quite the middle of the field when she 

saw a great gap 
where the tall nod¬ 
ding corn had been 
laid low. As she 
approached the gap 
she heard mens 
voices and exclama¬ 
tions of surprise or 
dismay : at the same 
time there was a 
sudden stop in the 
swish, swish, of the 
reaping-hooks. Trots 
feared there was 
something the mat¬ 
ter, and hurried on as fast as her little legs could carry her. Reach¬ 
ing the open space she found there was indeed something very sad 
the matter, for Trots’ own dear father was sitting on the stubbly 
grass almost fainting. His reaping-hook had slipped while he was 
at work, and he was badly cut above the knee. 

The sight of his dear little daughter made poor Edward March- 
mont smile in spite of his pain; but the little chubby face he loved 
so well grew double its length when she saw father in such trouble. 
He cheered her up as well as he could, and one of the other reapers 


































Little Trots, 









































































































LITTLE TROTS. 


bound up his leg, advising him at the same to keep quiet, and assur¬ 
ing poor frightened Trots that the wound was not dangerous. 

“ You make father rest a bit, dear,” said the man. Then turn¬ 
ing to the wounded man, he added: “See, Ted, what a nice dinner 
your little maid had brought you. Make father eat it, my dear, and 
then we’ll see about helping him home.” 

Trots seated herself with her quiet old-fashioned air close to 
her father, and untying her handkerchief produced a delf bowl, 
whence came a savory smell. It was a simple dinner enough: a 

basin of broth containing some fine whole¬ 
some potatoes and a very little meat, with 
plenty of bread to make up in quantity. 
Father enjoyed his dinner in spite of his 
hurt leg, the more so that little Trots 
shared it with him. 

After dinner, when the other reapers— 
who had all dined at the same time as 
Trots and her father—returned to work, 
Edward Marchmont and his little girl rested 
a while on the grass which skirted the field. 
When the poor reaper tried to rise he found that it was impossible 
for him to get on at all, even with the kind help of his clever little 
daughter, who, being but five years old, was not quite a Samson. 

The poor fellow groaned as he felt how stiff his leg was. Trots 
had to give her father up to the care of a stronger prop, in the shape 
of a stalwart Irish reaper, while she ran along beside her father. 

Mrs. Marchmont settled her good husband at once in bed, and 
then leaving the other children in the charge of Trots, with orders 
to look after them and keep them quiet, so that father might not be 
disturbed, the anxious wife hurried off to the doctor to beg him to 
come as quickly as possible. Mother had scarcely left the cottage 
when little Trots discovered that she had left behind her, in the 
cornfield, both the handkerchief and the basin in which she carried 







LITTLE TROTS. 


her father’s dinner. She thought to herself that as soon as mother 
returned she would run back into the field and look for them. 
When mother did return, however, and Trots heard that the doctor 
was coming soon she thought she would wait a little longer to hear 
what he said, and her anxiety was rather relieved when she heard 
him say that her father would be all right again in three or four 
weeks if he only had rest in the meantime. 

At last when Trots started on her search, the evening was 
closing in. Neither the handkerchief nor the basin were any longer 
in the place where they were left, but she still looked about, think¬ 
ing the reapers might have moved them out of the way of their work. 

But she got tired of searching, so she sat down beside the river 
to rest. All at once she saw something shine in the water, and 
worked hard before she could dislodge what turned out to be a 
purse which had evidently lain in its muddy bed for some time. 
She took it up, and examined it, and lo! there were five bright gold 
pieces, besides white money, as she called silver. 

Her first feeling was pride and joy, at being the lucky finder of 
such a prize. She knew mother could buy many things they wanted 
with this money. And then, too, father's sad voice and wistful look 
when he said. “ It is of the wife and children that I think.” But 
then came a second thought, and the question arose in her mind, 
“Whose money is it?” For, small as she was, Trots quite under¬ 
stood the difference between right and wrong. 

“ Miss Blanche will tell me what to do,” thought she. “ I will 
go to her.” 

Miss Blanche was the clergyman’s daughter, and lived at the 
Rectory; she was Trots’ teacher at the Sunday-school. 

Off to the Rectory marched the child and found her friend 
Blanche at home. Little Trots explained all the events of the day 
at great length, and when at last Blanche understood her, she was 
first filled with sorrow for the poor father, and then with surprise to 
hear of Trots’ lucky find. 





“BEATRICE.” 


“Give me the purse, Trots,” said Miss Blanche. “I will ask 
papa about it.” 

She left the room, but soon returned with the rector, to whom 
the purse belonged. He had dropped it a few evenings before, 
when returning from a visit to a sick parishioner. He was pleased 
with the little child for bringing it, and spoke very, very kindly to her. 

I need hardly tell you that the five gold pieces in the purse 
managed to find their way in another shape from the rector’s pocket 
to Trotty’s father: for, thanks to the care of the rector and his 
family, the poor man was nursed well, fed well, and his mind was 
well at ease during the whole time of his lying up with his wounded 
leg. And all this he owed to his own little Trots who had been 
such a good and honest little girl. 


(< 


BEATRICE. 




I ’VE known many clever 
little girls, but never have 
I come across so extremely 
clever a girl as Beatrice. Now 
I don’t want you to fancy 
that she is only a story-book 
girl—she is a real American 
girl—and is now about nine 
years old. Her father is a 
General in the Army, and her 
mother is a fine lady, who has 
to spend a great deal of time 
in society. Beatrice is with¬ 
out any companion of her 











“ £ eat rice.” 















“ BEATRICE.” 


own age, for the only sister she has is a little baby, and her brothers 
are all much older than she. Of course she has plenty of servants 
to wait on her, but they are more likely to do everything for her, 
than to teach her to do things for herself; but wherever the talent 
comes from, there it is, and there seems nothing she can’t do, and 
do well. I had the pleasure of teaching her for nearly two years, 
and you’ll be surprised when I tell you, that although only six when 

she came to me, she learned 
so rapidly that before she left 
me she was having all her 
lessons with girls of sixteen 
and eighteen. Now there are 
some girls who work very 
hard, and boys too, and yet 
they don't get ahead. They 
must not be discouraged; per¬ 
haps in some way or other it 
may be the story of the hare 
and the tortoise you know! 
To Beatrice it was no trouble 
to learn anything, but I give 
her great credit for the work 
she undertook, which did take 
trouble. She often ..used to 
tell me that she meant “ to 
learn to do everything ,” and 
certainly she tried, and I never 
saw her fail in anything she attempted. She cut out and made the 
dress you see in the picture, when she was very little over six years 
old. Thing after thing of every sort was begun by her and—listen 
to this—was finished by her. I know some people not far from 
where you live who begin heaps of things, and if they’re ever fin¬ 
ished, somebody else has to do it! She worked slippers for her 
































































HAPPY PRISONERS. 


father, and shoes for the baby, and cushions for her mother, and 
every sort of thing for her brothers. She learnt French and Ger¬ 
man so thoroughly that she could speak them pretty well; she 
played very nicely, and practiced carefully; she romped with the 
boys enough even to please them; she was always ready do any¬ 
thing for the other girls, and always had plenty of time. I remem¬ 
ber her particularly one term drawing a picture, which we afterwards 
had framed to surprise her mother on her birthday —very nicely 
done it was, too—and I shall never forget how tiny her hands were, 
and how she had to kneel on her chair to reach the top of the paper. 

One of Beatrice’s secrets for doing so much was, that she never 
wasted her time. She never moped about, grumbling that she had 
“ nothing to do.” She 7nade something to do always, and, as I told 
you before, always did it well ’ whatever it was. Won’t you try her 
way to save every minute, and you’ll find time for all you have to do, 
and you’ll be surprised to find how much more you can get through 
in the day, and how much happier you are, too, than when you fretted 
yourself and bored other people. 


HAPPY PRISONERS. 



One tiny Dickie chirrups, and flutters 
here and there, 

But thinks not of returning to his little jailer fair. 


T WO little prisoners, flying gay and 
free! 

A pretty little jailer, gentle as may be! 
She says—“ Dickies, darling, I’ve made 
your home so neat, 

Fresh water, seed, and sand well spread, 
a lump of sugar sweet.” 



























HAPPY PRISONERS. 


“ Ah, no! ” he says, “ we love you, and think you very kind, 

But we’d rather flutter up and down—that is, if you don’t mind. 

“ So, gentle little mistress, but grant us our one prayer, 

Do give us but our freedom, all other woes we’ll bear; 

We’ll float, and sing, and revel, content that we are free; 

So pray don’t ask us to return; we are happy, as you see.” 


Dear loving little Flory stood un¬ 
certain what to do; 

She wished her birds quite happy, 
yet wished to keep them too; 
She knew of many dangers un¬ 
dreamt of by her bird ; 

She knew birds died of hunger, of 
traps, too, she had heard. 

A hope arose within her; but one 
bird spoke his mind; 

She trusted that the other bird more sensible she’d find. 

“ Oh, Dickie dear! ” she turned to him, “ now tell your thoughts 
quite pat.” 

He shut one eye, and turned his head, and chirped the one word— 
“ Cat! ” 



When I have no flowers, I love the leaves so green; 

And the dainty leaf of a creeping plant is prettiest to be seen; 

And if I can have flowers, with them I leaves entwine, 

So round the clustering blossoms lie the leaves of the creeping 
vine. 































Happy Prisoners , 




































































































































































































































































































GRANNY’S BOY. 


N OW this is going to be a tale about an 
English boy. You all know where 
London is, of course. You remember what 
a huge place it is; far, far bigger than New 
York. The greatest city in the world, and 
yet the one where, amidst the endless 
crowds of people, you may be as lonely as 
if there were nobody in it. 

Now, Granny’s boy was not born in 
London, but down in Kent, where all the 
hops grow, and where the hundreds of men 
and women go to pick them when they are ripe. Granny’s boy 
went to school in his little village, and all he knew of London was 
that it was very big and very wicked. It happened, however, that 
in the evenings, when his lessons were done, he would sometimes 
listen to stories about the wonders to be found there, for the hop- 
pickers used to say he would find work easily, and soon be a rich 
man. When he heard that, he made up his mind to go; for, 
thought he, “ If I could earn good wages, Granny needn't work so 
hard at her wash-tub.” The old lady couldn’t bear the thought of 
his leaving her, but at last (thinking he would soon come back) she 
gave him permission, and off he started. 

Lor three weary weeks he nearly starved, for he could get 
nothing to do, until one day a kind old gentleman asked him if he 
were in trouble, as he looked so ill. Edward told him the exact 
truth, and the end of it was his kind friend got him a place in the 
“Shoe-black Brigade.” Don’t you see his label on his breast? and 
can’t you read his number? How he did work when he once got 
this start 1 

















Granny's Hoy. 





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































GRANNY’S BOY. 



There was no mistaking the honest, kindly expression as he 
invited the passers-by to have their boots cleaned. How nice 
everything he brushed looked, and what a fine polish he put on the 
boots! Certainly, he thought, if work was worth doing, it was worth 
doing well. 

Before long, Edward Stokes rose to be looked upon as the best 

boy in the brigade, and by that 
time a gentleman in an office 
close by where Edward had his 
work had been trusting him to 
post letters for him in the pillar, 
or run an errand with a tele¬ 
gram, or even to get an order at 
the post-office; and so promptly 
did he perform any errand of 
this kind, that at last he was 
taken into the office, first as 
boy, then as clerk, and after¬ 
ward as confidential, and right hand to the head of the establishment 
Now Edward has a nice little cottage out beyond Hammer¬ 
smith, and there he and his old granny live. She has a little green 
where she washes and dries her boys clothes all herself, but apart 
from that he will not allow her to do any hard work, but has a little 
girl to wait on her. 


There was an old woman whose mind 
Was fixed on a race with the wind; 

Her friends said, “ You’ll find 
You’ll be soon left behind ; ” 

But she smiled, and set off with the wind. 













































THE COLLEY. 


A COLLEY is a sheep dog. 
He is one of the most intel- 
\ ligent of all dogs, has a wonder¬ 
ful memory, and is looked up to 
by all the sheep, who often crowd 
round him for protection when 
anything happens to startle them. 
The dog in the picture belonged 
to a friend of mine, and was a 
great favorite with her sons. This 
lady had a cottage up in the 
mountains, near a little lake. 
When the boys went there in the summer, Bob always went with 
them. One day, as the lads were about to start, Bob seemed as if 
he were very restless, and when they finally rowed off, he was so 
troubled that he ran into the water, and jumped into the boat; when 
once in, he stood at the stern keeping a sharp look-out, but whining 
and unsettled all the time. The boys rowed off; tried to fish for 
some time, and then seeing a water lily, they thought they would 
get it for their mother. One of them reached out towards it, but 
leaned too much over the side of the boat and fell into the lake; 
the other instantly went to his help, but in pulling him into the 
boat, fell into the water himself. Bob shared their fate, but in a 
second jumped upon the upturned boat, looked round as if thinking 
what best to do, then darted in again, swam ashore, and made such 
a noise about the house that the servants knew something was 
wrong, and running to the water with him, arrived in time to save 
the children. If it had not been for the dog they would certainly 
both have been drowned; so you can think after that day how 



















A STORY OF A SKYLARK. 


much more they thought of him than 
They both have always insisted that 
the colley had a presentiment of some 
misfortune, for he had seemed un¬ 
happy all the morning, and even when 
taken in the boat continued to cry; 
and they think, too, that Bob fancied 
he could help them by being there 
when the dreaded accident came, as 
indeed he did, poor old fellow. 


they had ever done before. 



A STORY OF A SKYLARK. 



O NE splendid summer evening 
a little lark rose from his home 
on the ground, and thought he’d 
have a fly round and just see how 
things looked. So, with the inten¬ 
tion of having a good time, off he 
set, and up he flew, and round he cir¬ 
cled for ever so long, all the while 
saying to himself, “ What a hap¬ 
py world, and how grand it is to be 
free! You wouldn’t catch me living 
in a cage like some of my friends; 
oh, dear, no! But then a lark must be very stupid before he’d allow 
himself to be caught.” Now as he was thinking all this, and boast¬ 
ing of his liberty, he sang away with might and main ; but it some¬ 
how happened that at the very same instant a little boy far down 
below him was saying to his mother, “ I’d like to have a lark so 
much! I’d take good care of him, I promise you, and I’d make him 

























The Colley. 


























































































































A STORY OF A SKYLARK. 


cat: 


sing all day." But Mr. Lark, of course, didn’t hear this, so on he 
flew till he felt hungry, and thought he’d go down and eat his sup¬ 
per. He landed in a farm-yard, and there right before him he saw 
a lot of grain and dead flies scattered thickly around under a fine 
large sieve, which made a very pleasant shade, considering how 
bright the sun still was. So thought our friend as he began to eat; 
but while he was thinking, pop! went something, and when he 
looked round, he found he was a prisoner. In a second a great 
hand caught hold of him, and he knew the farmer’s boy had got 
him; worse still, he heard the kitchen girl say, “ Give him to the 
“ No, I won’t," said the lad. “ I’ll sell him to Mrs. Nichol, at 

the bird-store; ’’ and so saying, off he went 
and sold the poor lark for twenty-five cents. 
When the door shut on the boy, the bird 
had time to look round him, and found, on 
so doing, that he was in a very dirty old 
cage, on a dirtier shelf, in the dirtiest room 
he’d ever seen. But Mrs. Nichol fed him 
well, and next morning, thinking he wasn't 
looking very gay, she put him in the sun in 
the window. The sight of the blue sky, which he saw over the 
chimney-pots, made the poor fellow cry his poor little heart out. 
While he was telling the other birds how bad he felt, a lady and a little 
boy went past, and, sure enough, they thought he was singing! So 
in they went, and the lady bought the bird, and the little boy car¬ 
ried him home, where he was sure it would always sing. But 
instead of singing, the lark grieved all the more, for he saw the sky 
all day. The boy watched him, and saw he was fretting, and so he 
made up his mind to let him free. It was a hard thing to do, for 
he was very fond of the bird already; but he often thought how 
miserable he'd be if he were a prisoner. So he took the cage in the 
garden and opened the door. Dickie perched on the edge a min¬ 
ute, looked round him to make sure it wasn’t a dream, and flew off, 










A Story of a Skylark , 

































































































































FIELD FLOWERS. 


singing with all his power, and saying to himself that he would 
never boast again. 

Clear and sweet came the glad notes as the lark soared up 
towards the clouds; and the little boy cried as he turned to his 
mother; but I don’t think the tears he shed were tears of sorrow. 


FIELD FLOWERS. 



I N the fulness of the sum¬ 
mer, 

When all earth looks won¬ 
drous bright, 

Comes a little village maiden, 
Tripping, with a step so 
light. 


With her hair all loose and 
flowing 

In the fresh, sweet summer 
air; 

See, her hat with flowers is 
laden, 

Gathered from the hedges 
fair. 


Honeysuckle ; yellow charlock— 

Golden flowers ; a brilliant sight! 
Speckled foxglove; and another— 
Meadow-sweet, so fair and white! 









Field Flowers. 















































MARGERY’S TROUBLES. 


All the banks are rich with mallow, 
All the hedges in a glow; 

Can the world, so glad, so glorious, 
Yet be full of pain and woe ? 

Yes, the child that stands before us 
Choosing flowers fresh and fair, 
She herself, the sweetest flower, 

Has of trouble too, her share. 


MARGERY’S TROUBLES. 



>OOR Margery! You shall soon see why 
I say so, when I tell you that she was 
constantly getting into trouble. You 
shall just hear about one day or so, 
and when I say that it was not an 
unusual time with her, you’ll be sorry 
§ for her. Now, I want you to know 
that she was one of the sweetest little 
girls you ever saw, but, oh dear! she 
was very careless and forgetful, and it 
was this that made her have so many 
troubles. Well, this fine day when 
her governess came to give her a music lesson, poor Margery didn’t 
know a note. “ I don’t think you’ve practised,” said Miss Bruce. 

“ Oh! ” answered Margery, “ I meant to, but Jack came and 
asked me to go fishing, and I forgot all about my piece.” 

This was a bad beginning to the day, and she fretted so that 
she couldn’t repeat a single word she had learned, and her teacher 
was as glad as she when four o’clock came. After school she went 


















Margery's Troubles. 














MARGERY’S TROUBLES. 


out in the garden to think over the day’s work, and how sorry she 
was about not having known her lessons; but hardly had she got 
out when it struck her that it was nearly time for Jack to come 
home, so she got up on the gate-post to look down the lane. 
There he was, sure enough! She would run to meet him; when, 
lo! jumping from the post, she tore the whole front out of her skirt. 
“ Oh, dear! what will Eliza say?” thought she. “ I’ll try and mend 
it; ” so in she ran to put on another in the meantime. She couldn’t 
find one, however; so, pinning the tear together and covering it with 
her dress, she went back to meet her brother. While she was tell¬ 
ing her favorite about this new distress, her father came out on the 
lawn. “ Margery, will you come and make me my tea ? it’s getting 
cold.” Down went her hat on the ground, in she flew again, anx¬ 
ious to do anything to please him. All went well till she was 
handing papa his cup of tea, when, oh, horrors! the pins had come 
out of the tear without her noticing, and catching her foot in the 
rags, over she went, cup and all, the tea streaming along the carpet. 
Another trouble! 

Her father called her careless! it was more than she could 
bear. She thought she’d go in the garden; anywhere to be alone. 
She must get her hat, though, for the sun was still hot. She looked 
where she had left it, but no hat was there! Presently, to her dis¬ 
may, she saw the red puppy with a bit of ribbon, and then she knew 
that once more she had been “ untidy and careless.” She ran to her 
own room and sat there till Jack called, and said she was to come 
down, as her papa had forgiven her. When she got down, her 
father spoke to her about being such a tomboy. So in her poor 
little heart she thought she’d try to be more careful in future. Next 
morning she was up early; practised an hour, learned her lessons 
well, and in fact did all her tasks so thoroughly, that school seemed 
short to her. In the afternoon, she and Jack went to a picnic down 
by the river. Such a lovely place ! All the girls and boys she knew 
were there. When it was nearly time to go home, she thought what 





MARGERY’S TROUBLES. 



happy hours they had had, “and no accidents,” was just running 
through her head, when a boy ran up and asked if she’d like a 
swing —“just one before we go.” Swinging was grand fun, but she 
couldn’t reach the branch without dirtying her shoes. “Climb,” said 
the boy. Margery climbed; then she seated herself on the bough, 
and the boy sang, “ Here we go up, and here we go down! ” and 
sure enough, unfortunate Margery did go down. She fell right into 

the middle of the 
worst place! Oh ! 
if you’d seen her 
dress and her 
shoes and stock¬ 
ings ! “ What will 
Eliza say?” was 
her first thought. 
She was taken 
home, but Eliza 
was out; so she 
went straight up 
to bed. Just as 
she was getting 
into bed, she saw 
a heap of stock¬ 
ings which she 
had been told she 
must mend her¬ 
self, as she had 
torn them so badly with climbing trees, that the poor old nurse 
said she “ must learn a lesson ” for once by darning them. 

“None to put on to-morrow; I’ll have to mend them,” she 
thought; so, tired as she was, down she sat. She worked very hard, 
till her eyes grew weary, and at last she fell asleep. The candle was 
near the window, and when the wind rose it blew her hair into the 















































AUTUMN. 


flame, and she was wakened by her dress burning, and her curls on 
fire too. Very soon her screams were heard by her father, who came 
rushing up, but not before poor Margery was very badly burned. 
Burns and fright made her very ill, and for days, she could not leave 
her room. That day she darned the stockings was never forgotten 
by her. She used to lie and think of it, and all the other days when 
she had been so careless and useless; and many a good cry she had 
over them all. One thing I know, and that is, that when she rose 
again she was never called “ untidy ” or “ careless.” She made up 
her mind to be different, and you may guess she kept her word 
honestly. 


AUTUMN. 

S EE, the leaves are showering down¬ 
wards, 

Lying all around our path; 

We are glad to leave the meadow, 

Glad to gather round the hearth. 

Yet each season brings its pleasures, 
Blessings come with ev’ry day, 

If we will but try to see them 
As they lie upon our way. 

Should we pine for summers beauty, 

Now the lovely flowers are flown ? 

Rather think of autumn’s glory, 

Ere the changing lines are gone. 

Let us live then in the present, 

Seeking for some good to do; 

We shall find it if we seek it, 

Good work both for me and you. 








Autumn. 




























SOMETHING ABOUT ANTS. 


DARESAY you would like to hear 
something about ants, for you 
must often have noticed what ac¬ 
tive, busy little insects they are, 
and they are not only busy and 
clever, but they are kind too, and 
careful of one another. Baby ants 
are well looked after, and fed by 
the grown-up members of the es¬ 
tablishment, for when the little ant 
first comes out of the egg, it is so 
weak that it cannot take food by itself even if it is lying near it. 
Then comes a kind nurse who feeds it, by carefully dropping nour¬ 
ishing food into its mouth. 

While they are helpless, the strong, full-grown ants take the 
greatest care of them. They carry them about from one part of the 
ant-hill to another, and never hurt them in the least. This curious 
little insect, before it arrives at perfection, spins a cocoon, in which 
it shuts itself up for a time. These cocoons are watched over and 
taken the greatest care of by the mature ants. These wise elder 
members of the family know the exact time when the little ant 
ought to come out of its case; and as it cannot get out by itself 
they help it by piercing a hole in the cocoon, and then out walks a 
grown-up young lady or gentleman ant! 

Ants gather together by hundreds and help one another to 
build, carrying little pellets of earth between their tiny jaws. They 
place the pellets in their proper places with their teeth, and smooth 
the walls down carefully with their feet. The way they act together 
is most wonderful to watch; they seem to know and understand one 







Ant Hill. 


































SOMETHING ABOUT ANTS. 


another, and have learnt the great and useful lesson of obedience. 
They have been known to tend and care for the sick of their kind, 
and when they discovered dead amongst their list of sick and 
wounded, they separated them from the rest and threw them away. 

They catch slaves; the red ants, being more active and intelli¬ 
gent, making the black ants their slaves. A body of red ants have 
been known to join together and storm a nest of black ants, and 
then to carry some of them off as prisoners, in order, it has been . 
discovered, to turn the poor blacks into slaves, and make them do 
the hard work of the red ant colony. 

Black ants, although sometimes beaten by their red enemies, 

are active and formidable enough them¬ 
selves. If you see a nest of the large black 
ants and disturb it, you will find thousands 
of savage insects rush out, and if by chance 
any should sting you, you would not forget 
it in a hurry I can tell you. 

Ants are wonderful creatures all over the 
world; both the black and white ants of In¬ 
dia are well worth watching. When I was 
in Madras, I remember watching a number 
of elephant-ants, as they are called on ac¬ 
count of their enormous size. You must 
know that there are a great many lizards in India, and a good many 
of the smaller kind run about in the verandas and even in the 
rooms. Now these little lizards have a very odd and unpleasant 
habit—for themselves I should think as well as others—of shedding 
their little tails. Whether they do this because they are tired of the 
old tails, and wish to get new ones, or whether it is because they 
can't help it, I don’t know. But shed their tails they do, and these 
appendages, graceful and even handsome as they are when worn, 
are most miserable objects lying promiscuously about. The lizards 
also lose much, as far as appearance goes, in losing their tails. 

















SOMETHING ABOUT ANTS. 


On this particular evening I was just going to call a servant to 
remove the unsightly object which I had discovered lying at the 
side of the veranda; when, to my surprise, I discovered that the 
lizard’s tail was beginning to move. At first it appeared as though 
it moved alone, but as I looked at it attentively, I perceived the 
ugly forms of two or three black elephant-ants which I so much dis¬ 
liked. I at once saw that the lizard s cast-off tail was taken posses¬ 
sion of, and being moved by them. I now became interested, and 
anxious to find out what they would do with it. I found they 
wished to carry it up to a niche in the wall, where I suppose they 
intended to feast on it in safety. At first there were six, three on 
each side of the tail, and they moved it along easily while on level 
ground. But directly they began to ascend the wall, of course the 
tail appeared double the weight to them. This they were quite 
prepared for; a large party of ants followed them. First, two more 
joined the workers at each side, and as they got higher four more, 
then six, then eight, then twelve joined in, taking their places with¬ 
out flurry or confusion; until the lizard’s tail was a mere speck in 
the midst of the army carrying it. And they succeeded perfectly in 
their task, landing the tail in triumph where they wished, for, much 
as I disliked them, I thought them too clever to be disturbed. 

Just a word about the white ants. These creatures have wings, 
and are the most horrible nuisances in India. For they fly into the 
room when you are at dinner, and, shedding their wings, as the 
lizards shed their tails, they fall into dishes and plates, making one’s 
life a misery. They also devour everything they can get, and have 
been known to eat a large pair of leather boots in a few hours. 


Christmas Eve ! Now, all you merry children, 

Hang up your stockings, and sink to happy rest; 
Then gliding through the room the Christ-child passes, 
And breathing near the sleepers, leaves them blest. 






UNDER THE HEDGE. 


'HE leafy hedge a shadow makes 
Where sits a maiden fair— 

A little maid, who sits and plucks 
The gay wild flow’rets there. 


The buttercup shining like gold, 

The daisy with silver ray, 

The white and the red tufted clover, 
Each blossom that comes in her way. 

Ah, children, enjoy the bright present! 

Rejoice in these glad summer days, 

When the plants, and the trees, and the blossoms, 

All brighten beneath the sun’s rays: 

When you wake with the opening morning, 

With the song of the birds in the air, 

And your hearts give an echoing murmur, 

To all the glad sounds that are there. 



Not much to be seen but a feather! 
Can it be on account of the weather ? 
We’ll suppose a fine face, 

And a great deal of grace, 

So hidden because of the weather. 












Under the Hedge , 

































































































AN HONEST THIEF. 



DARESAY you children would like me to 
tell you about the very funniest dog I ever 
knew; indeed, I can scarcely help laughing 
now when I think of him. He belonged to 
an Irish footman, who lived in my grand¬ 
father’s service when I was a child. Joseph 
was an old servant, and a very worthy and 
excellent one in most respects, but, alas ! he 
was rather too fond of indulging now and 
then in what he called a “ dhrop.” 

Sometimes he would be sober for weeks 
and even months together, if no temptation 
came in his way; but let there be any mer¬ 
ry-making, or anything festive going on in 
the neighborhood, to which he could obtain leave to go, and Joseph 
never came home sober. He was looked upon among his friends 
as extremely good company, and was sought for and welcomed by 
all party-givers in his class of society. These sprees were over¬ 
looked by his kind-hearted old master: but Joseph belonged to 
another besides his master, and that other was a worthy and most 
respectable, though not too indulgent, wife. 

Joseph lived and slept in my grandfather’s house, while Norah, 
the wife, lived in a cottage close by; but whenever she heard that 
he had, what she called, disgraced himself, she would make him feel 
her anger pretty severely. Not only hard words were showered 
upon him, but, if report spoke truly, harder blows would sometimes 
follow. Now one evening Joseph returned from some merry-mak¬ 
ing more than usually the worse for his “ dhrop,” and my kind old 
grandfather was so annoyed that, the next morning, he walked 
down to the cottage where Joseph’s wife lived, to have a talk with 
her upon the subject. 




























An Honest Thief. 


















































































































































































AN HONEST THIEF. 


“He shan’t have no more outings,” said the worthy Norah; 
“ I’ll take care of that.” 

And she did take care. Now, what do you think she did ? I 
must tell you that Norah, being an industrious woman, increased 
her income by taking in washing, and she washed for the family 
at the great house, including her husband. So the next time he 
wanted to go out—it was to a wedding-party at a farmer’s that he 
was invited—she took a sure means to prevent his going, by simply 
refusing to let him have a clean shirt. Joseph tried scolding and 
persuasion by turns, he even complained to his master, but all to no 
purpose. “ It is not my fault, Joseph,” said my grandfather, laugh¬ 
ing; “ I will give you leave to go if you promise 
to keep sober.” 

“Sure,” said Joseph, “and it’s at home I’ll 
have to stay, if the wife wont’t hear reason.” 

Now I come at last to the hero of my story. 
Joseph, among other indulgences, was allowed 
to keep a pet dog at the house. This dog’s 
name was Paddy; he was a mongrel and no 
beauty; but he made up for the want of that 
quality by his cleverness, his funny ways, and 
his affection for his master. Joseph and Paddy 
would hold long conversations; and seemed always to understand 
each other perfectly. Besides this, Paddy had many accomplish¬ 
ments, and would learn with wonderful quickness any funny trick 
his master taught him. 

When Joseph was in trouble about a shirt he confided his sor¬ 
row to his dog, who seemed to feel it as deeply as his master. On 
the morning of the wedding-party Joseph determined to make a last 
appeal to his wife, and walked towards the cottage accompanied by 
Paddy. As he approached it, he saw some of his own shirts hang¬ 
ing out on a string to dry, and pointing to them, said to Paddy:— 
“ Sure I wish I had one of thim shirts now.” In a moment the dog 













HUGH. 


scampered off, and jumping up, pulled one of the shirts from the 
line, and brought it in triumph to his master. 

Joseph's wish was fulfilled, but it did him no good after all. 
The shirt was neither starched nor ironed, and was made dirty be¬ 
sides by being dragged over the grass. He was just thinking that 
he would turn back rather than encounter his wife’s anger, when she 
appeared at the door; so he went on, and made the best excuses for 
Paddy that he could. Norah was in a good humor that morning; 
she was struck by the dog’s devotion to his master, and sent Joseph 
back with a nicely got-up shirt under his arm. I regret to say, on 
his return from the wedding-party he was as usual the worse for a 
“ dhrop.” 


HUGH. 



D ID you ever hear of a spoilt child ? If 
you have not, I must show you one. 
H is name is Hugh, and though he is now a 
much better boy than he used to be, I am sure 
reading about what he was will 
f be a lesson to you. Well, Hugh 
was the only child of rich parents, 
and had been from a baby in the 
care of his grandmother; she was 
also rich, and, unfortunately for 
him, gave him everything he ever 
asked for, or cried for, or in fact 
ever thought he wanted. As his father was stationed in the far 
West, of course neither he nor his mother knew about how much 
their boy was petted and spoiled. If they had known, it would have 
troubled them very much ; but it happened by the time they had him 








HUGH. 


again, he was much changed, I’m glad to say. I'm going to tell you 
one or two things that happened to Hugh while he was down at 
Long Branch, and I’ll listen to hear what you say about him when 
you’ve read them. One morning I saw a lady in great distress run¬ 
ning about the beach asking every one, “ Have you seen a dear 
little boy in sailor’s clothes! Oh! what shall I do? he’s lost!” She 
asked one person after another, but all answered that they had seen 
no such boy, until I heard her inquire from a red-faced old gentle¬ 
man. He said, “Yes, I saw a naughty boy a little while ago; he 
nearly knocked my stick out of my hand, and hadn’t manners 
enough to say ‘ beg pardon.’” “My!” thought the lady, “what a 
cross old man!”’ but she got no further before he went on—“ Humph! 

if / had my way, I’d give 
him a good dose of the 
cane; that’s the way to 
cure him, and if you don’t, 
you'll have trouble yet, 
ma’am, with that young 
Turk.” 

After saying this the 
old man hobbled away. 
On rushed Mrs. D’Arcy 
in the direction this 
strange gentleman had pointed, and at last she found Hugh quietly 
seated, behind a big rock, making a new mast for his boat. He had 
been forbidden to have a knife, so the bad boy had taken a very 
large one from the stable. Knowing that he was disobeying, he 
had hidden behind the rock, so that his grandma should not see 
him. When he saw her coming, he hurried so that he caught the 
wrong side of the blade, and as you may guess, set up a yell of 
pain, for, of course, he had got a deep cut. Mrs. D’Arcy was in 
great trouble about her darling, when once more the queer old gen¬ 
tleman came up. 








































































































































































































































































HUGH. 


“Well, ma’am,” said the voice, “and so you’ve found him! 
Mischief, too, as I can plainly see. What has he been doing ? 

“ Oh! he has cut himself dreadfully; what would you recom¬ 
mend me to do ? ” 

“ Recommend, ma’am! ” said the old gentleman, “ why, I 
should recommend the cane. But the best thing to do, is first to 
bind up his hand. Here, let me do it, ma’am. I see that your 
nerves are quite upset by the naughty boy,” and the old gentleman 
bound up Hugh’s hand skilfully, though not very gently. Indeed 
it appeared as though he did not take much pains to avoid hurting 
the sufferer. 

“ Now, sir,” said the old gentleman, giving Hugh a knock on 
the shoulder with his cane, “ don’t steal knives in future.” 

Hugh, by this time scarlet with pain and passion, said: “ Hor¬ 
rid old man! I wish he’d fall into the sea! I wouldn’t help him 
out, I know.” 

Then saying, “ Remember, ma’am, to use the cane,” off went the 
cross man. Poor silly Mrs. D’Arcy forgot altogether that Hugh 
had disobeyed, so, instead of telling him how naughty he had 
been, she took him to a toy-shop, where he wanted a great many 
things, and finally succeeded in crying until she bought him a big 
boat. 

It was a great beauty, and Hugh called it the Empress. It was 
a schooner, painted sky blue, and so large, that it was as much as 
he could do to carry it down to the beach by himself. 

Mrs. D’Arcy told him distinctly that he was not to go near the 
ocean, but only to sail the Empress on a big pond, and then having 
said this she sat down to read. No sooner did she begin than off 
ran Hugh to do exactly what he was told not to do. He tied a 
long string to the boat, and then climbed on the end of the break¬ 
water, but in a minute the string caught on the piles of the pier, and 
the tide was so strong, that in the hope of holding on to his boat, 
poor Hugh was drawn right into the sea. He was nearly drowned, 





“OLD BAMBOO.” 


when suddenly he felt caught from behind, and the first thing he 
knew, he was pulled safely on shore by the strange old man. 

“Ay,” said the old gentleman; “so it was / who had to help 
you out of the sea after all. I don’t think you deserve it, sir, and I 
did it entirely for your grandmamma’s sake; luckily for you that I 
was sitting reading on the other side of the breakwater.” 

Somehow Hugh and the old gentleman became great friends 
after this, and Hugh was certainly a better boy in consequence. 


“OLD BAMBOO.” 

D ID you ever hear such an odd name 
for such a nice little girl ? I’ll tell 
you why her brothers and sisters nick¬ 
named her that, and you’ll then see that 
as they used it, all her friends took to 
it, and in the end every one called her 
Old Bamboo, except her big brother 
Will, who tried to teaze her by making it “ Old Bamboozle! ” 

You know little children often take a fancy for queer things, 
and carry them all round with them. I once had a little cousin 
who fell in love with a great hammer, almost as large as himself, 
and like little Mary with her lamb, you could sing of him, “ Every 
place that Tommy goes, the hammer’s sure to go.” 

Well, when our little friend was a baby, she gave all her atten¬ 
tions to a long piece of bamboo which her father had brought from 
the East. It used to stand in a corner of the library, when she first 
saw it; whenever she got a chance she’d creep in there to look at 
it. After a while, her father noticed how she would sit and stroke 
it; she was good all the time she was near it, and no matter how 









“OLD BAMBOO.” 



often he called her to him, would always go back to the corner 
again; so he thought he’d have it put in the nursery for her. 

When she once got it so near her, she played with it off and on 
all day, and when evening came it had to be laid on the bed beside 
her. Indeed, if she woke in the night and it wasn’t there, she would 
cry herself to sleep over it. She had this queer fancy until she was 
about five years old, and then, after having had the measles, her 
mother sent her to her aunt in the country, thinking that the change 

would make 
her all right 
again. When 
the time to start 
came, and she 
found that her 
treasure was to 
be left behind, 
I’ll never forget 
what a fuss there 
was! Next day, 
however, she 
was in the or¬ 
chard most of 
the time play¬ 
ing with her 
cousins, or help¬ 
ing her aunt, 
and I suppose 
that put it out 

of her head. Something did, for after she went home again, she 
never took any more notice of the poor thing, but up to this hour 
the name has stuck to her, and I daresay some one will always 
continue to call her “ Old Bamboo.” 





















“ Old Bamboo!” 





















































































































SUMMER-TIME. 


I N summer-time, in summer-time, 
How pleasant 'tis to play, 

In meadows bright with sun¬ 
shine, 

And sweet with new-mown 
hay. 

To watch the silver fishes 
Dart in and out the reeds, 
Or play at hide-and-seek below, 

Amongst the dark green weeds. 

In summer-time, in summer-time, 

How pleasant ’tis to play, 

In meadows bright with sunshine, 

And sweet with new-mown hay. 



To sit upon the soft, long grass, 

And pluck the dear wild flowers, 
Or read some tale of fairy-land, 

To while away the hours. 

In summer-time, in summer-time, 
The whole world seems so gay, 
The sunny months they fleetly pass, 
And seem like one long day. 


Little fairy in a shell, sailing o’er the sea! 

Whither are you coming ?—perhaps to visit me. 

Where, then, do you come from, o’er the stormy main ? 
Little fairy, how I trust you’ll get back safe again! 




Summer- Time. 












































































































































THE CANADIAN LYNX. 


W HAT glaring eyes we see on the op¬ 
posite page! You have perhaps heard 
people speak of any one who has very 

of a lynx.” Certainly this picture does 
credit to those wonderful, bright, piercing 
eyes possessed by this quick-sighted animal. 

The lynx is to be found in many parts 
of Europe and America, and also in the 
more northern forests of Asia. In Canada 
they have a lynx differing slightly from that of Europe; its hair 
being longer and of a darker shade. The lynx is active, and easily 
climbs trees; its chief food consists of hares, rabbits, squirrels, and 
such small game; but sheep have been occasionally known to fall 
victims to this animal. The fur of the lynx is valued, as it is very 
handsome. 

The Canadian lynx will take to the water, and is so good a 
swimmer that it will swim a distance of two miles and more. In¬ 
deed, I remember once hearing a curious anecdote of a gentleman 
in Canada, who went out wild-duck shooting and fell in with a lynx, 
or peeshoo, as they are called out there. This gentleman had set¬ 
tled to go out for a day’s sport on the river, with a friend with whom 
he was staying, who had a house on the river’s bank. His friend, 
however, was for some reason unable to accompany him on his 
expedition, therefore he determined to go alone. 

He rowed down the river for some time in his little boat, which 
he had formed almost into a bower by placing branches of trees all 
along the gunwale, so that the poor ducks might imagine they saw 
a floating island of weeds. His success was perfect, for to his joy 


quick and keen sight, as having “ the eyes 





The Canadian Lynx 
































































THE CANADIAN LYNX. 


he discovered that his boat was soon within gunshot of the ducks, 
without causing terror amongst them. 

Accordingly, he carefully drew his oars in, now allowing his 
boat to float; and, discharging his gun, shot three or four of the 

deluded, web-footed victims; and the others 
rising on the wing, he shot a few more of those 
with his second barrel. He was preparing to 
see about securing his game, when, to his sur¬ 
prise, he saw the bushes open by the water’s 
edge, and from some long grass there crept 
out into full view a lynx who plunged boldly 
into the water, and rapidly seized the floating 
bodies of the wild ducks and carried them off 
to the shore. This he did so quickly and silently, that before the 
sportsman could load and discharge his gun for the second time, all 
his dead wild-ducks had been carried off by the lynx. The creature 
seemed to take to the water quite naturally, and I suppose hunger 
made him unusually fearless. 

Although very powerful, the peeshoo or Canadian lynx is easily 
killed by a blow on the back with a stick. 



Polly, the milkmaid, comes over the plain, 
Fills up her milk-pails, and then back again; 
Milk for our breakfast, milk for our tea, 

Thank the good moo-cows for you and for me. 

































































A Morning Call. 























































SUMMER GAMES. 



P RETTY birds, pretty 
birds, what do you 
play, 

Flying about on the 
leafy spray ? ” 

“ Little maid, little man, 
can’t you guess ? 
Ev’ry one comes in a nice clean dress, 

Ev’ry one cheerfully keeps the rule; 

We merry birds are playing school.’’ 


“ Butterflies, winging from rose to rose, 

What you are playing there’s no one knows.” 
“ Little maid, little man, oh ! ’tis fun, 
Roaming and sporting till set of sun : 

Roses and lilies white and meek, . 

'Mong these we play at hide-and-seek.” 


“ Gay breezes, tossing the green leaves about, 
What are you playing at when you are out ? ” 
“ Little maid, little man, come and see, 

Here we go racing from tree to tree. 

Oh! it is jolly! we never flag; 

This is our merry game of tag.” 

“ Grasshoppers, out in the meadows so sweet, 
What do you play with your nimble feet ? ” 

“ Little maid, little man, one, two, three! 
Hipperty hopperty! can’t catch me! 

Oh ! such a merry, delightful game ! 

‘ Hop-scotch ’ young folks call its name.” 









Summer Games. 



































JERRY. 



NE winter evening a poor 
blind man stood at the cor¬ 
ner of a street selling pen¬ 
cils. In one numbed hand 
he held his little stock in 
trade, and with the other he 
held a piece of string, the 
end of which was attached 
to a dog’s neck. This dog 
was not handsome, he was 
of no particular breed, and 
indeed was uglier than 
most mongrels. Still, Jer¬ 
ry— that was the dog’s 
name—had as affectionate 
a heart, and as good an 
understanding, as most 


of his kind, which is saying a great deal. 

Poor Brown, however, did not get many customers, and as it 
continued to get colder, he made up his mind to go home—one 
little room, which his wife kept very neat and clean. This night, 
however, an accident happened which nearly broke the hearts of 
both Jerry and his master. As they were crossing the street, they 
somehow or other got into a crowd, and before they knew it, the 
cord was broken, and poor Jerry was kicked and chased, and nearly 
trampled to death. To make a long story short, he was lost, and 
by no fault of his was separated from hismiaster. 

All this while the man was groping about to try and find his 
pencils, and it was only when he got them and whistled for his dog 
that he knew Jerry was lost. It was all in vain to call, for Jerry, not 





































JERRY. 


being accustomed to the streets, was rushing madly the very wrong 
way, in the hope of getting his master again. Poor, poor Jerry! all 
the other dogs made fun of him, and no one helped him to find his 
home, and so, nearly frozen with the cold and faint with hunger, he 
curled himself up in a doorway and slept. Now, as good luck would 
have it, a kind old man—a dog doctor—passed that way next morn¬ 
ing, and seeing him lying took him up and patted him. 

“A mongrel, and not handsome!" said Caleb to himself; 
“however, he’s a dog, and I’m partial to all of 'em—I’ll see what 
can be done." So, instead of going on, he tucked poor Jerry under 
his warm coat, and retraced his steps to his home. 

I needn’t tell you about this home, as you can get a good idea 
from the picture, where you can also see Jerry on the chair waiting 
for his medicine. Doesn't he look miserable? He soon felt better, 
and after he had eaten some nice hot bread and milk was able to go 
out with his new friend. He was very grateful to this kind man, 
but still never let his poor master out of his mind even for an in¬ 
stant. Indeed, he hoped that on this walk he might perhaps be 
taken near the place where the blind man stood. “ Whac will he do 
without me ? " thought Jerry. “ Oh, if I could only find him again!" 

Scarcely had he uttered these words to himself, when Caleb 
turned a corner, and Jerry’s wishes were fulfilled. Caleb had come, 
by a way unknown to Jerry, to the very street the faithful dog knew 
so well. And—-joy of joys ! there was the blind man standing at his 
usual corner, with his basket of small wares and a stick; but alone! 
Regardless of passing carts or carriages, with a short, sharp bark of 
delight, Jerry bounded across the street, and was at his master’s 
feet in a moment. I don’t know who rejoiced the more at this 
meeting. 

Caleb and the blind man became great friends owing to their 
introduction by Jerry; and they all had a happy dinner together on 
Christmas Day at Caleb’s abode; his poor patients coming in for a 
share of good cheer, Jerry was made much of by the whole party. 







































































































































































































































THE DOLUS HOUSE. 


T HE evening we came home from 
the sea-shore we were all so anx¬ 
ious to see if all our little 
were exactly as we left them, or 
whether the flowers had grown, and 
so on, that as soon as we got out of 
the carriage, we each rushed off to our 
own particular spot to satisfy our¬ 
selves. Now my eldest sister Kate 
was so glad to get home again, that, 
in her joy, she offered to race any 
one round the lawn, “just for fun ! ” None of us wanted a run, so 
she had to content herself with being chased by the under nurse, 
who was always ready for a romp with any of us. 

Off they flew; round and round they went, when Kate, once 
being nearly caught, made a dodge down the terrace steps, jumped, 
and unfortunately fell with full force on her ankle! If you had 
heard her scream, you would have known she was dreadfully hurt, 
poor girl! Nurse and the gardener carried her into the house, and 
some one went for the doctor, while she was being put to bed. 
When he arrived, he said she had sprained her foot so badly that 
it was all but broken, and she must lie quite still for a long time. 
So during the weary weeks she was in her room, she used to read 
and play, for she had a large doll that she positively loved. 

Doctor Hatherly took the greatest interest in Kate and every¬ 
thing belonging to her. He used to feel the doll’s pulse, and pre¬ 
tend to examine her tongue, order her to be bled or blistered, as the 
fancy took him, and in fact entered thoroughly into all Kate’s whims 
and fancies. 

One day the kind doctor called, and as usual took up Pearl’s 




























The Boll's House. 











































































































































































THE DOLLS’ HOUSE. 


doll. I suppose the old gentleman was careless in his way of hand¬ 
ling it; at any rate he managed to give its head a great knock 
against the back of the chair, and—horror of horrors ! he broke the 
beautiful wax face in two. Poor little Kate! 

Oh ! what a big trouble it was ! She was broken-hearted, but 
managed to stammer out, “ Don’t be so sorry, doctor, you didn’t 
mean to break her.” Now it happened that very day she was 
allowed to move about a little, so that kept her from fretting quite 
so much over the doll. 

One fine day, about three weeks after it was broken, the butler 
said a large case had come for Kate! You can imagine how sur¬ 
prised she was; how she wondered what k 
could be. 

Imagine her joy at discovering the most beau¬ 
tiful and largest doll’s house she had ever seen. 
It was taller than herself, and opening with two 
doors, was as wide as it was high. It had a 
peaked roof, painted red, and outside it was like 
a handsome cottage. There were five rooms in 
it, all beautifully fitted up. One down stairs was 
a kitchen with all appliances; plate-rack, plate- 
warmer, stove, coal-scuttle, and fire-irons complete. The next was 
a dining-room; the room above that, the parlor, with sofa, chairs, 
tables, looking-glasses and piano. The one over the kitchen was 
the bed-room, and the large top-room was the nursery, with beds, 
and cot, and cradle, all complete! 

There was a cook in the kitchen, and other maid servants; a 
butler in the dining-room; a lady, full dressed, in the parlor; a lady 
asleep in the bed-room, and the nursery was full of nurses and chil¬ 
dren. 

Inside the doll’s house was a slip of paper with these words 
written in Dr. Hatherly’s writing—“ For a patient and well-behaved 
little lady , who spoke graciously even when much tried 










WANDERING THOUGHTS. 





ARK eyes that look very thought¬ 
ful, 

And a pensive little face, 

Little hands lying idle, 

As she rests with childhood’s 
grace. 

The rope that flew so briskly 

Lies quite still upon the ground, 
And little thoughts fly quickly 
Here, there, and all around. 


And the little thoughts that wander, 

On the back of the butterfly ride; 

To catch the sweet breath of the flowers, 

To roam through the summer-world wide. 


Away, and away yet further, 

Borne on the summer breeze, 

To visit the birds in their little nests, 
At the top of the great tall trees. 


Away, and away to the meadow, 

To roll in the sweet scented hay, 
To bask in the sunshine, and revel 
The whole of the summer’s day. 

























Wandering Thoughts , 










































































































































































































































































































































































































































DICK’S BIRTHDAY. 



very few of them. 


P LEASE don’t think this is that often told 
story of the boy who got the cake, and who 
was so greedy that he hid it away for fear 
any one else should taste it! Nothing of 
the sort. Dick is a fellow who goes to 
school in New York, and whose parents live 
in New Jersey. He is a favorite with the 
boys, and he likes them in return. The doc¬ 
tor always allows a half holiday on the birth¬ 
day of any of his boarders, for you see they 
are all rather little, and besides, there are 
This happens to be Dick’s birthday, and as you 
see, his mother has sent him a cake and some apples, and I don’t 
know what else besides. Now Dick knew these things were com¬ 
ing, so he and the other chaps asked the doctor whether he and 
Mrs. Birch, and Lilly and Grace, would promise to take tea in the 
school-room. The doctor said, “Yes, with pleasure.” So you see 
these four are unpacking some of their good things, and are going 
to get the tea ready all by themselves. 

Grace is to pour out tea, and Lilly is to 
sit next to Dick, because it’s his party. 

Mrs. Birch has promised to play charades, 
and the doctor to read some funny tales, 
so they are expecting a good time. Dick 
doesn’t know it yet, but his mother and 
father are coming, too; and what’s more, going to bring his sisters 
with them; so there’ll be four girls and four boys, and they can 
have a fine dance, and play games. Dick wants to make the other 
boys enjoy themselves as much as possible, for they, poor fellows, 
are so far away from their friends. He can go home any time in a 
























Dick's Birthday. 
























































































LINGERING LATIMER. 


couple of hours, but none of them in less than many days. Tom’s 
parents are in Connecticut, and the other boys have come all the way 
from Virginia. I’m sure you hope they will all have a very pleasant 
evening; I do, but as it has not begun yet, I cannot tell you more 
about it. But, I think, as they are all such good friends, it will 
surely be a happy one. 


LINGERING LATIMER. 

Lingering Latimer lived up a tree, 

Just like a Sloth ; 

Slackest and slowest of slow-boys was he, 

Lazy and loth! 

He kept a pet tortoise, and that had the gout,— 

A very poor goer; 

And Lingering Latimer, when they went out 
For a walk, was the slower! 

There was nothing about him would run—not his nose, 
We are told! 

But the secret of that was (it’s under the rose) 

He could not catch—cold 

In his prospects we cannot but own there is hope 
Of a sort; 

He may live by performing upon the slack rope, 

And can never run—short! 




HANDSOME TOM. 


\H, what a fine cat! ” Tom must be al- 
' most tired of hearing this said of him, 
and if he were like some little boys and 
girls it would make him vain. But I do 
not think he cares for what people say if 
they will only speak kindly, and not push 
him, or drive him about. 

Tom is really very handsome, and it 
is when he stands up to be stroked that 
people exclaim, “ Oh, what a fine cat! ” Poor Tom, if he could only 
remember the day his kind mistress saved him from cruel boys and 
carried him home under her shawl, I think he would love her even 
better than he does. He was a poor frightened little kitten then, 
and the wicked boys had driven him about the streets till he got 
quite wild, and they told the lady not to touch 
him because he was mad. 

But she was not afraid; she lifted up the 
poor little trembling creature and put it under 
her cloak, and then, didn’t she give those 
naughty boys a good scolding for their cruelty b 
Three years have passed since that day, 
and Tom has grown so large and handsome 
that every one admires him. I dare say he 
thought it was a dreadful day for him when he 
wandered away from his own home and the 
boys drove him nearly mad, but after all it 
turned out a good day for Tommy. He found 
a happy home, with plenty to eat and drink, a comfortable bed, and 
above all, a kind mistress and servants, who take care of him and 
treat him well. He’s a good-natured old fellow, and the children 


























































Handsome Tom. 

















































“GRUMPY.” 


are very fond of him. He has learnt lots of tricks ; he can stand on 
his hind legs and “shoulder arms” like a soldier! Can draw the 
doll’s carriage when they take their morning drive. Can beg as well 
as any dog, and oh! you should see what lots of mice he catches in 
the barn. If any one saw what great friends he and Sambo are, 
there would be no more talking about quarrelling like “ cat and dog.” 
They eat from the same dish, lie side by side on the rug, play 
together, and are very much attached to each other. Many people 
say they don’t like cats, but if they only knew Handsome Tom they 
could never say so again, for he is not only beautiful in appearance, 
but really, for a cat, he has a beautiful character. 


“ GRUMPY.” 

HIS is poor old “Grumpy.” I don’t know how 
he got his name, for I’m sure he’s anything but 
“grumpy” to me at least. You can see from 
the look of him that he isn't one of those dogs 
who live in drawing-rooms, and eat chicken- 
bones and sugar. Oh, dear, no ; poor “Grumpy” 
lives in an old barrel, as you shall hear later 
on, and he never gets any meat at all; nothing 
but dog biscuit ever crosses his lips, although 
his master is a rich man, with ever so many 
grand houses. Now don’t think for one minute 
that this good old dog is neglected. He is 
taken the very greatest care of, and it is of his 
own free will that he lives in such a queer 
house. There are lots of other dogs at the hunting-box where he 
is kept, but he has been there longer than any of them, and seems to 
feel as if they were all in his particular care. The game-keeper, 






“ GRUMPY.” 


who has the charge of all the dogs, is very fond of Grumpy, and I’m 
going to tell you why, so that you can judge for yourselves whether 



“ Grumpy." 


he oughtn’t to feel a great love for the poor old rugged deerhound. 
Well, then, Brown had a little son whose name was Jim. He is a 
big chap now, but of course he was little once, and like all working- 
















“GRUMPY.” 

\ * 

men’s children in quiet country places, he was allowed to crawl 
about, in and out of the house, into the garden, or wherever he 
chose to go, for Mrs. Brown used to say there was nothing that 
could harm him. For a long time this was certainly true, but one 
fine day, as Jim was creeping round the little cottage, a very large 
boar came down the road and strayed into the garden. The baby 
had a little dog and a rabbit, with which it was playing, but the hog, 
savage with hunger, and vicious at the best of times, ran towards 
them and instantly killed them both, and began to tear them to 
pieces before it saw the poor child. As soon as it discovered Jim 
it ran at him, and in another minute he would have been dead too, 
but for old Grumpy, who happened to come along, and guessing 
what was the matter, he caught the baby by its clothes and carried 
him off in safety! I suppose he wondered to himself where he’d 
better put him, his own kennel was too small; and then, I fancy, it 
must have struck him about an empty barrel in the yard. No 
sooner had he thought of this than off he ran to it, put Jim carefully 
in the back of it, and lay down himself in front of him. The baby 
was safe, but Grumpy no doubt thought Mrs. Brown would wonder 
where Jim was; so the cunning old fellow stayed there and barked 
until she came to him and found her little son. At first she could 
not think how he had got there, but soon she saw the dead rabbit 
and the puppy, and before long she heard from a neighbor that a 
furious boar had been shot that afternoon, only just in time to save 
the life of a boy it was attacking. Then she guessed that the dog 
had saved her child. Ever since that day Grumpy has continued to 
live in the barrel, and another dog has his nice home now. Is it 
any wonder the game-keeper makes a favorite of the deerhound ? 


Little flower of the field, to me you tell a tale 
Of blooms upon the hill-side, of blossoms in the vale. 




HAY-TIME. 



S UMMER trees are clad in 
green, 

All the buds are blowing, 
And the winter’s gone away: 
There is no fear of snowing. 


Now the tufted grass is laid, 
Alas, the fair wild flowers ! 
They died too soon beneath the 
scythe, 

And wither through the 
hours. 


The little field-mice fly in fear, 

The lark's nest is turned over, 

The mowers spared nor mouse nor bird, 
Nor buttercup nor clover. 


And to the hay-field children come, 
With merry shouts of laughter; 
And tumble all the hay about, 

And then come tumbling after. 


The children revel in the hay, 

All in the bright June morning, 
The hay that was such grand tall grass, 
With sweet gay flowers adorning. 








Hay- Time. 

















































































BIRDS’-NESTING. 


ONCE knew a boy in Vermont 
who was the most curious fel¬ 
low you ever heard of. He 
would have a finger in every 
pie; and nothing seemed to 
make him mind his own af¬ 
fairs, until at last he was 
nearly killed. After that he 
used to go his own way, and 
both he and other people 
were the better for it. Now 
I want to say to you, boys 
and girls, that nothing looks 
worse in children than to be 
continually asking questions about all they see their elders doing. 
It is very forward, and no child who is forward is ever liked well. 
This boy of mine lifted lids and peeped into everything; he opened 
doors to see what was behind; he looked into windows, and did 
every sort of shabby and mean trick, for no other reason than curiosity. 
The day Master Johnnie paid most dearly for his prying, came near 
being the end of him altogether. He had just come out of the 
stable, where he had almost been kicked by one of the horses which 
he had teased into a bad temper, when suddenly he bethought him¬ 
self of a poor little bird's nest, at the far end of the garden. That 
very morning he had been told by his father that neither he nor his 
sister Nancy was to touch it; but Johnnie’s curiosity led him even 
to disobey, and as you will see, he paid bitterly for his sin. He 
said to himself, “I guess I could climb that tree and get the nest; 
no one would miss it, and certainly no one would know / had done 
it.” So, with this poor excuse, the naughty boy began to mount 















































BIRDS’-NESTING. 


branch by branch. Never did it strike him how mean it was to 
frighten the birds or steal the eggs! The old birds had flown away 
to get food for the young ones, who were still tiny little balls of 
down, and could only lie rolled up in the nest. All at once Johnnie 
put his head up, and the poor baby birds were wondering what on 
earth such a giant could want, when he put his hand out to catch 
hold of them ! At that instant there was a loud crack, then another, 
and another; then the branch broke altogether, and down he went, 

N torn, and bruised, and bleeding, and 

nearly killed. He lay some time before 
any one came to him, and at last, when 
the doctor was called, he said Johnnie 
was seriously injured. However, as it 
happened, he did recover, thanks to kind 
friends and good nursing; but need I 
tell you this affair of the bird’s nest was 
the end of his curiosity. Of course the 
four little birds grew up in peace, and 
got their feathers, and learned to fly, and 
were always happy. Long after this story happened, Johnnie told 
me one day how it had taught him to try to be kind to everything 
living, especially to such as depend on us for food and protection. 

A great and good poet once told us: 





4 Never to blend our pleasure, or our pride, 
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.” 


A sweet, sweet sprig of lily-of-the-valley; 
Who shall have it ? Little merry Sally; 
She shall keep it, and wear it all day: 
Lilies are found in the garden in May. 











Birdsnesting. 















JIM. 


A LITTLE while ago I told you 
how old Grumpy had saved 
Jim ; now I can show you a picture 
of Jim himself in the barrel. After 
the day he was first taken there 

habit of creeping round that way, 
until before long he used to go 
constantly. Mrs. Brown felt that 
Grumpy was a good nurse, and she 
was sure, too, that Jim could get 
into no harm with his big protec¬ 
tor near, so every morning she put 
fresh straw in the barrel, and as soon as the baby went that way, 
she felt she could go about her work without fear of danger. 

There were lots of other things that Grumpy could do besides 
mind the baby, though whatever he did, he nearly always took Jim 
with him. Sometimes he would go after the cows, and leave Jim at 
home, but when he went down on the beach to watch the clothes 
while they were drying, the little boy went with him. I shall tell 
you just one more story about this old dog, and then you shall hear 
something else. 

I told you that Brown had a great many other dogs in his care. 
Among them was a big mastiff who, at the time of which I am writ¬ 
ing, was very sick, and in consequence of this, I suppose, Brown only 
allowed him half his usual quantity of food. Grumpy was quite well 
that day, and was just commencing his full allowance of dinner. 
While he was smacking his lips, and thinking how good it would 
be, he turned round and saw poor Bruce watching him, and evi¬ 
dently thinking, “ don’t I wish I had some more.” The one look 


by his friend, the baby got into a 





















































































MOUSEY. 


was enough; in a second Grumpy took a whole biscuit from his 
dish, and carrying it very carefully, laid it down beside Bruce, and 
then quietly walking back to his plate ate what remained. Wasn’t 
that good-hearted ? 


MOUSEY. 

D ID you ever see such a sweet lit¬ 
tle pony ? He has come a long 
journey, too, for you will see by his 
looks that he is not a native like you. 
Take your atlas and find the map 
of Europe, and then look right up at 
the top of Scotland and you will see 
the Shetland Isles, and when you've 
found them, just think what a great 
traveller Mousey has been. Poor fellow! he didn’t want to come 
to the States at all, but now that he is here, nothing would make 
him go back again. Oh! he was so sea-sick! and besides that, 
which in itself was very hard to bear, he just perfectly hated to have 
to stay in one little pen so many days, and his fellow passengers, 
too, didn’t please him at all. They were all very common, ill-bred 
horses; great gawky fellows that Mousey couldn’t make friends of, 
or even speak to, for some of them were German, and others were 
French; in fact, he alone of them all was an educated and gentle¬ 
manly horse, and to be with such a crew was a great trial to him. 
When he landed in New York, it was a great relief to him to be 
met by his future groom, and to be led to a genteel stable, where he 
could meet ponies of his own class in society. 

After being introduced to all his new companions, he was taken 
round to the avenue to make the acquaintance of his future mistress. 











Mousey . 


















































































MOUSEY. 



He did not care for her at first, and looked very rudely at her, but 
when his stable friends told him afterwards how good she was, he 
was sorry he had behaved so, and from that day he tried his best to 
gain her good opinion. He soon learned that he should bow when 
she gave him a piece of carrot; that he should shake hands when 
she said good-morning, and nod at her when she left the stable. 
He found, too, how much it pleased her when he could do any new 
tricks, so he set about copying all the dogs did. One day he opened 

the dining-room win¬ 
dow and walked in 
while she was having 
dessert! This delight¬ 
ed her so much that 
after that he came in 
every day regularly, 
and if she said “Shut 
the window again,” he 
would trot over and do 
it directly! 

He enjoyed the 
cake and candy, and other good things so much, that what do you 
think he did one day, but bring in the big horse, who stood next 
him in the stable! And just fancy, he was clever enough to know 
that the great fellow couldn’t get through the window, so he brought 
him in at the back door, along the hall! That day they had both 
been in the field, so that was how Snowball was loose. 


A small, small branch of a very large tree; 
Pray, little folks, say what it may be ? 

It is shady and grarfd; and grows in our land, 
And it is reckoned a very fine tree. 












THE HOT POKER. 


EARL had three sisters and a brother, and 
as she was the eldest of the four, of course 
they one and all looked up to her. I don’t 
mean that she had the care of them, you 
know, for their mother had a dear, kind old 
nurse whom they loved very much, but 
still they looked up to Pearl, as she was 
the “ biggest; ” and they used to copy 
whatever she did, as children generally 
do, not in the case of the hot poker, though, 
I'm glad to say; that frightened them and 
taught them a lesson into the bargain. This is the way it all hap¬ 
pened them. 

One day they were sitting round the nursery fire, and Martha 
was telling them stories, when suddenly she was called from the 
room. Before leaving them, she said she would be back directly, 
and that they must be good, and above all, not touch the stove, 
especially the poker, which she had laid over the top to draw up the 
fire, as old ladies sometimes do. They all shouted, “ All right, Nurse,” 
except Pearl, and she said, “ nothing would make her disobey; ” but 
although she made so much of her obedience, she was the very one 
to disobey, as you will soon see. No sooner had Nurse turned her 
back than the naughty girl looked at little Frank and said, “ Yon 
didn’t promise, so you can move it just for fun." But Frank 
wouldn’t. Then, after trying to get the others to do it, and finding 
they wouldn’t touch it, she began to mock at them and call them 
babies. She declared it was not hot, as she would show, and so 
saying, she caught up her sleeve and laid the poker on her arm. 
What an awful burn she got you ’may know, when I tell you that 




The Hot Poker. 




































































































































































































































































































































THE HOT POKER. 


it is years ago now, and yet she has the big scar on her still. After 
boasting as she had, she could not cry or let them see how much 
she was hurt; so in great pain she pulled down her sleeve and tried 
to talk on, but they knew that she was in agony. When Nurse came 
back nc one liked to tell, so poor Pearl suffered on without having 
anything done to help her. It happened that a cousin of theirs 
came that day to have tea in the nursery, and they had all been 
looking forward to it very much. But when tea-time came, Pearl 
was in such terrible pain that she could not keep from crying, and 
being badly behaved and rude to Frank, who accidentally hit her 
on the sore place, her cousin sent her out of 
the room. This was more than she could 
bear; disgrace as well as pain; but what was 
she to do? Her arm was getting unbearable; 
so, after thinking over it for some time, in she 
went and confessed the whole story to Mrs. 

Grey. Then the next shame she had to bear 
was when the doctor came, and she had to 
tell him. This was far worse than telling her 
cousin, for she thought he would tell his chil¬ 
dren, and then they wouldn’t play with her any 
more. Besides all this, her burn was doubly 
sore to dress after having been neglected for 
hours. Poor Pearl! her punishment was very hard to bear. That 
night she resolved never to disobey again, and what’s more, she 
kept her resolve, and when the pain would allow her, she went to 
the other children and told them all about it, and begged them 
never to deceive or disobey, but by being honest and obedient, to 
be happy and good. 



When I was out a-walking, I met an old, old man; 
What he said, and what I said, now, guess it if you can. 




THE LOST PET. 



T ACK and Ma- 
I ry had a bird 
which they had 
trained from the 
nest. A star- 
ling, the very 
cleverest bird, 
they thought, 
that ever was 
born! Did you 
ever see any 
starlings ? They 
are lovely birds, 
with glistering 
feathers of a pur¬ 
plish green, and 
speckled with 
light colored 
spots. Well, this 

starling the children had was very tame, and a very great pet. They 
did not keep it in a cage, as most girls and boys keep their birds, 
but it lived with the pigeons in their house out in the yard. It 
used to run about the yard, and into the house, and all over. It 
could whistle a tune as well as Jack, and it could talk very distinctly 
too. It was very mischievous, and took a great many funny fancies. 
One of these was an intense dislike to the chambermaid, Jane. She 
did not like it, and it found that out at once, and teased her con¬ 
stantly in return. When she was up stairs, it would pretend to be 
in trouble, and call, “Jane, come at once” or, “Oh! Jane, Jane, come;” 
and down she would rush, only to find she wasn’t wanted. It knew 






















The Lost Pet. 






















THE LOST PET. 


a good many sentences, and of course could fly all over the house, 
so that Jane would often run, thinking he was up stairs, when in 
reality he had followed her. As long as he lived, he teased that 
girl; and I think, perhaps, he had some reason, for the parent did 
the very same too. 

Dick was very fond of Mary, and would let himself be saddled 
into a little cart and draw her doll round the garden. Jack taught 
him to fetch and carry, and I couldn't tell you all the clever tricks 
beside. Indeed, he really was a wonderful bird. One of his fancies 
was for the cow, on whose back he would very often perch; and 
while there, he would jump about and gobble up all the flies and 
other insects that troubled poor Daisy. Indeed, everybody was fond 
of him (except Jane), and you may guess what a great trouble it 
was to his master and mistress when the poor fellow was killed. 

Well, this was the way it happened. It was the last day of the 
spring vacation, and Jack and Mary, and of course Dick, had been 
roaming about the fields. They were almost home again, when 
Dick spied a big beetle, which he ran to pick up, when oh, hor¬ 
rors ! a man who was shooting in a field saw him, aimed at him, 
and killed him. Before they could get up to him, he had given a 
scream, a flutter, and then had fallen on his back dead! In the 
picture they are in great trouble, wondering what they’ll do without 
him. Aren’t you sorry for them ? He has been their companion for 
three years, and now the poor fellow has been murdered in their 
very presence. 


t 


A green, green tree, that stands by itself, 

A tree without very much shade; 

For its branches are cropped quite small at top, 
Until to a point it is made. 




PLAIN, OR PRETTY? 


T RUDGING through the fields so early, 
Whither going, little maid, 

With your basket so well laden, 

Walking with a step so staid ? 

Come now, just look round a moment, 

I so long to see your face; 

The crown alone of your straw bonnet 
Should not always take its place. 

Stop one minute, pluck a flower, 

Drop your umbrella, pray. 

It is wearying thus to follow 

Just a back the livelong day. 

« 

I am sure your face is lovely, 

Lilies, roses there combine, 

That your eyes are very handsome: 

Do just turn and look at mine! 

Or perhaps you are too hideous— 

Fear that you should frighten me: 

I have heard of pig-faced ladies, 

And one I should like to see. 

I’d like to make you drop your basket, 

Bo at you and make you start: 

You are so tiresome and provoking, 

I think you’ve neither face nor heart. 







Plain , or Prettv l 




























































































THE SECRET OF THE SUNFLOWER. 


That stiff strait bow that ties your pigtail, 

So neat and nice and wondrous trim,— 
I’d like to tweak it, make it crooked, 

I don't like people when they’re prim. 

Come, now, do not think me spiteful; 

If you would but turn your head, 

I would ask you to forgive me 

For the naughty things I’ve said. 

But the little village maiden 

Calmly trudges on her way, 

Heedless both of prayers and scolding, 
Caring naught for what I say. 


THE SECRET OF THE SUNFLOWER. 

O Sunflower, what is the secret thing. 

You hide in your inmost heart, 

When you turn to the Sun, like a slave to a king, 
With all your leaves apart ? 

The hollyhocks vainly listen round, 

They are nearly as tall as you; 

The bee comes away with an angry sound, 

For he cannot get the clue. 

You hide your secret, day in day out, 

But you eagerly watch your king, 

And some hot noon, you will speak with a shout, 
And tell us that secret thing! 





DAN AND DOBBIN. 



Y father was very fond of horses, 
particularly Dobbin, which he 
had bought, a little long-legged 
colt, and had trained himself; 
but dogs he couldn’t endure, 
and he was always angry if he 
saw poor Dan about the house, 
until the story happened which 


I am going to tell you about. Now Dan was just the same age 
as Dobbin, and from the very first they had been the greatest 
friends. Dan used to lie in the stall with the horse, and in fact, as 
often as they found an opportunity, they were together. One day 
father had gone to the hunt on his favorite; but early in the day we 
were horrified to see him brought home in a carriage! He said he 
had had a “ spill," but was not much hurt, and indeed he seemed 
less anxious about himself than about his horse. 

He told us that the last he saw of Dobbin was when he first 
recovered from the stunning effect of his tumble. Then the horse 
had already jumped a hedge and was in the next field, where he was 
galloping along after the hunt, shaking his head, and seeming to 
enjoy the sport all the more for finding himself riderless. 

This was pretty early in the day, but hour after hour passed 
and no one brought back Dobbin. Then it was discovered that 
Dan was missing too. We all said at once that Dan had gone off 
in search of his lost friend, but nobody was prepared for what really 
happened. 

It was late in the afternoon when the two friends made their 
appearance together in a curious fashion: Dobbin trotted quietly up 
to the lodge gate, with Dan leading him, and holding the reins in 
his mouth. Having passed through the gate, Dan did not let go 








Dan and Dobbin. 
































































































































































































































THE SEA-SIDE. 


of his prisoner, but brought him straight up to our front door, and 
there sat down with an air of triumph, still holding the reins in his 
mouth, as you see in the picture. 

Where Dan had found the horse, how far he had gone before 
he met with him, or how long he had been leading him, a willing 
prisoner, along the road—we never knew. But Dan's exploit had 
at least one excellent result. From that day my father became as 
fond of the poor old dog as he had before disliked him. 


THE SEA-SIDE. 




O NE day when I was little, I remember our 
nurse was constantly whispering some¬ 
thing mysterious to our governess, and, as 
you may guess, my sister Mary and Frank 
and I were very anxious to know what it 
was all about. At last I heard Nurse say, 
“ I’m most done now, and I don't think we 
need tell the children to-night.” That was 
enough for me, so I bothered and teazed 
until I was told that next day we were all 
going to the sea-side. I dreamt about buckets 
and spades, and all sorts of things, and you may depend I was up 
in time in the morning. Now in those days we were living in 
England, and there, you know, everything is not quite the same as 
here. The house my father had taken was at Brighton, on the south 
coast—a lovely, glorious place. 

When we arrived the sea was peaceful and smooth. As we 
drove along the cliff from the depot, we could see fishing boats and 
larger vessels lying quietly on the calm water, and we could hear 
the murmur of the tiny waves on the beach. And, joy of joys ! we 



V 






THE SEA-SIDE. 


could see the bathing machines, and we knew we should in a day 
or two be having splendid dips in the sea. I wonder if you little 
people love the sea as I did when I was a child, and indeed as I 
always have all my life. To be near the sea, on the sea, or in the 
sea, has always been one of my greatest pleasures. And now I am 
going to tell you a bathing adventure which happened to me during 
this very visit to Brighton. 

You must know that there was at that time one quite important 
member of our family that I have not yet mentioned to you: this 
member of the family was a dog—a true sky terrier—called Elfie, 
for he was like an elf in his clever odd ways we thought. He was 
beloved by us all, but was the particular property of Mary, who was 

very, very fond of him, and for a 
long time kept to the delusion 
that Elfie was a prince in dis¬ 
guise ; and that he would one 
day get rid of the enchantment 
which had turned him into a 
dog, and, becoming a hand¬ 
some young prince, he would 
straightway offer her his hand 
and heart. Elfie acknowledged Mary as his mistress, but he ex¬ 
tended his loving friendship to all the rest of the family, and par¬ 
ticularly patronized me. Elfie was very handsome in his way, and 
I always thought he knew it. He was dark bluish grey in color, 
with very silky hair, which hung over his beautiful eyes; he had a 
coal-black nose—but look at the picture, and you will see him. 

Elfie went to Brighton with us, and always accompanied us 
when we went to bathe; he hated the water, and therefore never 
thought of coming after us into the sea, but he went with us into 
the machine, and would sit at the open door with a wise expression, 
watching us bathe. 

But to come to my adventure: One morning I was got ready 
















The Seaside. 










































































































































































































































































































THE SEA-SIDE. 


for my bath the last of the three; our usual old bathing woman, 
Nanny, had given Mary and Frankie their dips (for mamma was 
most particular that we should have our heads wet first), and was 
now engaged in giving them sundry odd jumps up and down and 
“ merry-go-rounders," as we called them. Nurse told me to wait 
for Nanny; and had turned into the other compartment of the 
machine, for it was a double one, to say something to the nursery 
maid, who was arranging our clothes, when the idea occurred to me 
that I would join the party in the merry-go-round without my usual 
dip. Accordingly I descended the steps slowly and cautiously. 
Nanny and the others did not notice me; the only person who was 
aware of my intention was Elfie, and he certainly did not approve. 
Down I went, going to the last rung of the little ladder—then—I 
made a false step, and fell into the water, head first. I was stunned! 
Nanny heard the splash, but did not see me; Nurse ran to the bath¬ 
ing-machine door, and did not see me. Elfie barked furiously, and 
was the first to see my little white cap, which was lifted on a wave a 
few feet off. The brave doggie did not hesitate, but sprang into the 
water, swam the short distance, and seized it. He kept my head 
above water until the old bathing woman waded to me, and I was 
soon carried back to the machine. 

My little face was badly scratched from my fall, but otherwise 
I soon recovered. And I never tried to have a bathe without my 
usual dip from Nanny again. 


A person once said, “ I will run; 
You can have no idea of the fun 
Of running so fast 
That you drop down at last, 
And feel that you’re utterly done." 






CLEVER MASTER JACK. 


T HIS is an 
English sto¬ 
ry, about Jack, 
who was a re¬ 
markably sharp 
boy. He was a 
rosy, handsome 
little lad of 
about ten years 
old at the time 
of my story. His 
father and mo¬ 
ther had been 
obliged to go to 

India when he was a very little fellow, and Jack had been left in the 
care of his grandmother in England. Now grandmamma was very 
fond of the child, and spoiled him dreadfully, letting him have his 
own way in everything, and his uncle David seeing this, strongly 
advised her to send the little lad to school. 

“My dear mother,” said Uncle David to Lady Gordon, “you 
let him have his own way too much: indeed you do. He orders 
the servants about, he gets into all manner of mischief, and he is 
such a sharp little fellow that he can generally persuade you all he 
does is right.” 

Grandmamma sighed as she thought of losing her little com¬ 
panion. “Well, my dear,” said she to Uncle David, “I will think 
about it: I cannot make up my mind to send him from me just yet.” 

However, on the very day after this conversation, Master Jack 
managed to get into more mischief than usual. He jumped out 


























Clever Master Jack 













































CLEVER MASTER JACK. 


from behind the dining-room door with a loud shout just as the 
butler was bringing in a tray for lunch; the poor man was so 
startled that he dropped the tray, and both glass and china were 
broken. Then a little later in the afternoon, finding grandmamma's 
pet cat and her Skye terrier sleeping side by side on the rug, Jack 
contrived to tie their tails together with a piece of string without 
waking them; and you may imagine, when they did wake, what a 
spluttering, and barking, and hissing there was. 

It was this last piece of mischief which decided grandmamma 
to send him to school at last, for, as she rightly said, there was more 
cruelty than fun in it; and Uncle David was commissioned to find 
out a school at once. This he soon did, and Master Jack started off 
for Birchley Academy after a tender and tearful parting from his 
dear grandmamma. 

At school Jack was rather liked than otherwise both by his 
schoolfellows and the master. The boys liked him because he was 
full of fun and up to all sorts of pranks, while he pleased the master 
by his cleverness and quickness in learning. On his return home 
for the holidays, it soon appeared that he was not less sharp for 
having been to school, and that he had learnt to turn his sharpness 
to good account, as you will see by the little story I am going to 
tell you. 

The first evening of his holidays he was amusing himself by 
building a house with cards, while grandmamma sat by the fire 
working. He was making his house rather carelessly, and as fast 
as it rose to two or three stories down it toppled. At last he said 
suddenly: 

“ Grandmamma, dear, will you give me fifteen cents if I build 
my house six stories high ? " 

“ Yes, my dear.” 

“ But will you double the money if I build seven stories, and 
go on doubling for every extra story that I build ? ” 

“Yes, my dear, I will,” said grandmamma, rather sleepily, for 







HOW PETER LEARNED TO READ. 


she was just going to indulge in a nap, and little dreamt of the trap 
she was falling into. 

Having obtained this promise, Jack set to work carefully, almost 
breathlessly, to build his house, and in a few minutes grandmam¬ 
ma’s slumber was disturbed by hearing him say: “ Six stories : that’s 
fifteen cents, grandmamma! ” Then in another minute: “ Seven 
stories: thirty cents! ” Here he paused to get a chair to stand 
upon, for the house had grown so high. “ Eight stories: sixty cents! 
Nine stories: a dollar twenty! Ten stories: two dollars forty!’’ 
And so he went on, building up and doubling the money, till at the 
thirteenth story down fell the house. My little readers can calculate 
what a large sum by that time the fifteen cents had grown into, and 
they may imagine grandmamma’s astonishment. 


HOW PETER LEARNED TO READ. 



She spoke these 


r WON’T go into that place. I won’t learn 
to read nor write neither. No, I won’t, I 
tell yer! I hates the beastly old letters, that 
gets all muddled up together when I looks 
at them. I shan’t go in, I tell yer! ” 

So cried Master Peter Stretton, as he 
and his elder sister neared the National 
School-house. 

“Come along, Peter; mother’ll be angry 
if you don’t, and father’ll give you a hiding. 
You know father’s hands are precious heavy.” 
“ I shan’t! ” cried the obstinate boy. 

“ Well, I shall catch it if you ain’t in 
school to-day; so come along, I tell you! ” 
last words in a loud, angry voice, and, catch- 






HOW PETER LEARNED TO READ. 


ing hold of her little brother, tried to give effect to her words by 
force. A regular tussle followed, as you see, little readers, in the 
picture. Slates and book-bags fell in the mud, and the scuffle 
ended by both children rolling over together, their clothes being 
torn and dirtied. This disgraceful scene was acted in the sight of 
several scholars on their way to school; the little boys laughed at 
it, but the little girls looked on in dismay. Peter conquered: he 
won the battle at last by a kick upon his sister’s arm, and while 
she stopped to rub it, he bounded off as fast as his young legs 
would take him, leaving books and slate on the ground. 

After crying a little, Matty turned and entered the school- 

house, considerably the worse for her strug¬ 
gle. She was about ten years old, while 
Peter was only seven, and, besides being a 
sharp, sensible girl, she had arrived at an age 
to understand the advantage of learning. 
Her father and mother could neither read 
nor write; but they had often felt what an 
inconvenience and drawback this was to them, 
and were quite as determined as Matty that 
Peter should learn as much as he could be made to learn. It was 
not only a dread of the School Board fines that made them insist 
upon his going to school; it was also a sincere desire that, for his 
own sake, he should acquire knowledge. 

Peter rushed away from his sister and the hated school-house, 
but he did not run home—for a very good reason, he dared not. He 
played in the gutter with other truant boys, and for a time amused 
himself very well, making mud pies, or playing games on the pave¬ 
ment, to the annoyance of the passers-by. At last Peter began to 
feel cold—it was the early spring—particularly about his little legs, 
which were bare from the knee to the ankle. He was reminded also 
that it was past his dinner-time, for he felt exceedingly hungry. 

All at once, while he was wondering what to do, a crowd of 


















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How Peter Learned to Read. 





































































































































































































































































































































































LOVE IN THE DUST. 


people rushed round the corner shouting, Fire! fire! fire! He thought 
he would join them, so on he ran, forgetting for the time both hun¬ 
ger and cold. Before he knew where he was, almost, he found 
himself in a big square, in front of the burning house. It was an 
awful sight, he thought, and he began to feel so hungry again that 
he would try to get out of this by running over the square, and 
dodging the policemen. He waited a good chance, and then flew 
for the corner opposite, where there were very few people, but he 
had barely got half way when he heard a great crash, and he knew 
no more until three days after, when he woke in the hospital. He 
had got a severe cut on the head, and his leg was broken. For two 
days after he ran away, his father and mother were very anxious, as 
they could not find any trace of him. At length the police were 
able to tell what had happened, and poor Peter was visited in his 
little cot. When he saw his mother, his first words were to beg her 
pardon, and to say that when he got well he would try to be good 
at school. Whether he kept his promise or not you may guess, 
when I tell you that before he left the hospital he could read, and 
that when he went back to school he gained the character of being 
a good and clever boy. 


LOVE IN THE DUST. 

I know a little rose, 

And oh, but I were blest, 
Could I but be the drop of dew 
That lies upon her breast! 

But I dare not look so high, 

Nor dream of life so sweet; 
It is enough for me to be 

The dust about your feet! 






THE BRIDESMAIDS. 


ERTHA MAYNE was ten years 
) old when one of her uncles gave 
her a set of dolls, dressed up like a 
wedding party. There was the bride 
all in white satin and lace, and the 
bridegroom in full regimentals, just 
like an officer. She had her long train, and her veil, and all the 
things that girls wear when they’re married “ in style,” and he had 
a sword and belt and sash and epaulets, and a fine plume in his 
cocked-hat; in fact, he looked like the commander-in-chief of the 
army! Then, besides these two, there were eight bridesmaids. If 
you could have seen how fine they were, each of them leaning on 
the arm of a soldier, I think you would have been as excited as 
Bertha over her lovely present She clapped her hands and laughed, 
and even cried with joy. She made them promenade up and down 
the dining-room table, till at last she grew tired of standing, and 
then, putting them all in a box in front of her, she sat down to rest, 
and to have a good view of them once more. She noticed every¬ 
thing about them, from the crowns of their heads to the soles of 
their feet. Nothing was lost to her; ribbons and sashes and flow¬ 
ers and frills, and all the other finery were admired again and again. 
When she tired of the ladies, she turned to the gentlemen. Didnt 
they look splendid ? What a fine uniform ! scarlet coats look pretty, 
you know. Then she wondered whether she’d ever see a real live 
soldier. Of course she had often seen pictures of them, but she 
wanted to see “a man soldier and not a picture. ’ Wouldn’t it be 
grand to be a bridesmaid, too ? She wished some one she knew 
would get married, so that she might go to the wedding and wear a 
white silk dress. She once even thought she’d like to be married her¬ 
self, but then both she and her school friends were too little to get 







The Bridesmaid. 















































































THE BRIDESMAIDS. 


married. There was Mary, her sister, though; “ She’s big enough,” 
thought Bertha, so off she ran to Mary's room to ask her if she 
wouldn’t “ be kind enough to marry a real soldier,” and let her be 
one of the bridesmaids ? Mary laughed and seemed amused, and 
wanted to know why she'd like her to promise such a queer thing ? 
Then Bertha took her down stairs and showed her the dolls, and all 
the while Mary was admiring them she kept saying, “ Oh, Polly, do 
promise to marry an officer. I do want to be a bridesmaid.” 

At last Mary said, “ Well, since you’re so anxious, little woman, 
I’ll see about it.” 

As you may guess, Mary just happened 
to be engaged to an officer, and so in a few 
weeks, when she was married, Bertha was in 
raptures, and thought everything had been 
arranged to suit her alone. For days be¬ 
fore the wedding she was in a state of great 
delight, and in the picture you see her as 
she looked that morning. She is just 
putting on a wreath of jasmine which her 
new soldier brother has sent for her as well 
as for all the other bridesmaids, for Mary 

thought if it was such a pleasure for Bertha it might please other 
little girls too, and so instead of having grown-up ladies, she chose 
twelve children, about the same age as Bertha, and you may sup¬ 
pose they enjoyed the treat very much. 



Small black-haired child, with a chubby round face, 
Two little round eyes, and round nose; 

Little fat arms, and little white frock, 

And out peep the dear little toes! 










“GOLDEN HEARTY’ 


D aisy blakestone is 

the name of this sweet lit¬ 
tle girl you see. She lives not 
very far from here, and is, you 
may guess, the pet of the whole 
neighborhood. Her parents are 
very rich people, so she can get 
anything she chooses to ask for, 
but you shall see presently the 
use she makes of the privilege 
of being wealthy. 

First of all, she is quite un¬ 
selfish, and will give away all the pocket-money she gets, just for 
the good it may do the person who receives it. Some rich girls will 
give all they have; but then, they think, “ Oh, I can get plenty more 
to-morrow.” Daisy isn’t like that, though, and will never accept 
more than her proper allowance for each week. If she gets a pres¬ 
ent from her papa or mamma, she never thinks of spending it on 
herself, but will say that somebody needs a dress or a petticoat, or 
coal, or some of the necessaries of life, “ and it will be such a pleas¬ 
ure if / may give it." Her birthday came last week, and what do 
you think she asked for when her papa told her she might choose 
her present? Well, this was what it was: “I should like to adopt 
one of the poor children left orphans by the great fire in the city.” 
Wasn’t that kind and good ? Now, don’t think that Daisy is one of 
these disagreeable children one often reads about in story books; 
she can romp and play and dance and sing, and do all her brothers 
do. They think a great deal of her, and because she is so good to 
them and everybody else, they have christened her “Golden Heart.” 
She is only twelve years old, but she is so quick and clever that she 









































“ Golden Heart." 










































































JACK ABROAD, AND JILL AT HOME. 


can often help them with their lessons; and between you and me— 
but this is a secret, mind—she often gets them out of scrapes. 
When they have been naughty and are to be punished, she goes 
and pleads for them with her papa, who sends for them, and says, 
“ Boys, I was going to punish you, but I have changed my mind, as 
your sister tells me how sorry you are, and that in future you will 

try to do better.” Then they kiss papa 
and Daisy, and off they go. You must 
not think that Mr. Blakestone never 
punishes them when they are naughty, 
for that would be a mistake, but he 
thinks, with Golden Heart, that very 
often a quiet talk does a great deal of 
good, and shows children that they 
have been wrong, far more than a pun¬ 
ishment would. Now I want you all 
to try to be like Daisy, for whether you 
are boys or girls, you can learn a lesson 
from her, and if you try to be kind and gentle, you will be far hap¬ 
pier children than if you go grumbling through the world, annoying 
every one else as well as yourselves. 



JACK ABROAD, AND JILL AT HOME. 

If my Treasure you should see, say her loved one greets her! 
“ How does he get on ? ” says she—say upon my feet, sir! 

“ Is he ill ? ” Say, dead am I! But tell her, when, for sorrow, 
She, poor thing, begins to cry, that I’ll come home to-morrow! 





THE BLACK ROCKS. 


O UR sister Crissie was very 
fond of studying all about 
seaweeds, so Tom and I made 
up our minds that we’d try and 
find a particular kind for her, 
which could only be got far out 
on the Black Rocks. So one 
day, when we were tired of 
building castles, I proposed 
that we should go out there 
and look for it. However, just 
as we were talking of going, a 
voice behind us said, “ It ain't safe up there without some one as 
knows the place,” and looking round we saw a boy who lived in the 
village, and who afterwards told us awful tales about people who 
had been lost on the rocks because they didn’t understand about 
“ catching the tide.” This lad promised to go with us next morn¬ 
ing, as it was too late then for that day, so we arranged to meet him 
at ten o’clock. 

Now I knew very well that we ought not to go without per¬ 
mission, but I also knew that if I asked, papa would say, “ / shall 
go with you some day myself; ” but I was impatient, and like a bad 
boy made up my mind to sneak off without asking at all! Tom 
was a much better fellow than I, and begged me not to go as it was 
wrong. But I soon put an end to him by calling him a coward; 
and poor Tom gave in directly, for if there was one thing he couldn’t 
bear, it was to be laughed at. When morning came, papa had been 
called to the city, mamma was in bed with a headache, and as Cris¬ 
sie had to stay with her, there was nothing to interfere with my 






























THE BLACK ROCKS. 


naughty plans. I must here say that the boy did not turn up, so I 
insisted on going alone. 

So off we went, and in less than twenty minutes the Black 
Rocks were reached. 

“ Oh, what a jolly place ! ” cried Tom. “ This is ten times bet¬ 
ter than the other rocks; and here's no end of seaweed.” 

“ Yes, but it’s not the right kind,” said I. “ Chriss described it 
to mamma very exactly, so I don't think I could mistake it. Come 
and help me to look.” 

We hunted very carefully for a long time, but without success, 
till suddenly, with an exclamation of delight, I palled a long, dark 
piece out of one of the deepest pools. 

“ I am sure this is it! ” I cried; “ at any rate I never saw any 
like it before.” 

I stooped again to choose a good piece of the seaweed, when a 

cry of horror from Tom caused me to look 
round. In our busy search, we had forgotten 
the tide , and it was coming in rapidly. Al¬ 
ready several of the rocks were covered, and 
scarcely a couple of yards left dry between the 
cliffs and the sea, while every moment brought 
those splashing, rolling waves a little closer. 

I stood for an instant as if fascinated, then 
seizing Tom by the hand, cried, “We must 
run ! ” and we both set off as fast as our legs 
would carry us. 

But swift as we were, the tide was swifter, and before long we 
were running in the water above our ankles, and the wind, which 
was full against us, dashed the blinding spray in our faces, and pre¬ 
vented us from seeing where we were going. We struggled bravely 
on for a little, till a bigger wave than usual broke near us, and sent 
the water rushing up to our knees. Then I gasped out— 

“It's no use Tom; we can't do it. Come back again!” and, 










The Black Rocks, 




















































THE BLACK ROCKS. 


turning, we made our way back to the rocks, where at least there 
was a little space still left dry; but that was no place of safety, as 
both knew well, for high-water mark was far, far above our heads, 
and no way of climbing the steep, dark wall was to be seen. 

“We must wait here,” said I, very low. “ It can’t be long now.” 

Tom shrank up to my side, pale and trembling. 

“ Ralph,” he whispered timidly, “ don’t you think we ought to 
say our prayers ? we have been very naughty, you know.” 

“ You haven’t, Tom,” said I, despairingly; “it was all my doing 
that we came without leave, and now—oh, Tom, I cant stay here 
and die! ” 

“ If we asked to be forgiven—” still whispered Tom. 

I did not answer, but I made no resistance, and we two knelt 
down there upon the hard rock, holding each other tight, and prayed 
more earnestly than we had ever done before. 

A minute after, a great wave dashed up, and flung a cloud of 
spray over us, making us cling together, and scream with fear. The 
next must surely wash us away altogether, and then— 

“ Keep up! ” was shouted near us, and the next thing I knew I 
was in my own room, with mamma sitting beside me. Tom was 
safe too. I remember starting up and saying, “ Oh! I was very 
naughty, please forgive me ; ” and then, they told me, I was weeks 
ill with a fever before I spoke again. The boy who was to go with 
us had been delayed, and seeing us out on the rocks, had come to 
our help in a boat; so, thanks to him, we were both saved. You 
may depend we have never ceased to be grateful to him for risking 
his life for us. 


Do you like gooseberries ? I can’t say I do; 
Perhaps you like currants, and raspberries too. 

I wish you could come to our country home, 

How much in the garden you would like to roam! 











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